For Love or Country
by Shinira
Summary: A fiery theif proves himself more than just a nuisance when his appearance triggers a chain reaction that could mean Altea's destruction or deliverence from a silent enemy.  MarthRoy
1. Chapter 1

"If Lycia falls to Zephiel, nothing will stop him from crossing into Akaneia." Commander Jeigan's mouth was drawn in a stern line and Marth could see the years of battle blazing behind his aged eyes. He had fought alongside the valiant warrior and knew that he could trust the Commander's instincts as surely as he could trust his own.

The high priest at the opposite end of the table huffed his indignation, "The Bernians are just dragon-worshipping heretics; you inflate their influence and strength past its merit."

"The entire continent of Elibe, save for Lycia, has crumbled beneath the Bernians and it is unlikely that Zephiel's megalomania will be satisfied with that. Once he has built up an army, he will not hesitate to conquer the nations of Akaneia." Jeigan had always taken potential threats to Altea very seriously and had always insisted upon their early extermination.

"And what is Elibe? Its nations are primitive and weak, loosely governed at best. The Houses of Lycia will put an end to this nonsense." While Marth had to agree that Lycia had strength, Bern was celebrated as one of the greatest war machines in the world; even the famed Pegasus Knights of Ilia had failed against her.

"If that is true, then Altea should send troops to Lycia's aid to ensure its end." A captain reasoned. Marth recognized him as head of the wind unit.

"Altea cannot spare its Knights; Cornelius was harsh with the Doluans in their defeat six years ago. If they see that Altea's army is diluted, they may take the opportunity for vengeance, especially in light of the recent change in Altea's administration." The commander and his captains glowered at the high priest for his blatant insult to their young king. Little Marth had spent his infancy on the training grounds, on the battlefields; he had seen the world they had seen, felt the brotherhood they had felt. He was their brother; he was their son; he was their king. But they said nothing, as Garnef outranked them all.

Marth disregarded it; it was no concern of his if the priest thought little of his ability to rule. The previous king might have valued Garnef's opinion, but the current king had no time for religion. His only concern was Altea.

It was in this midst of heated tempers that they heard a polite knock on the door. Ellis poked her head in and gave the men a gentle smile of apology for interrupting their council meeting. She hurried to her brother's side and leaned down over Marth's shoulder to whisper into his ear.

"A fire user has been caught stealing from the kitchens." Marth's interest was immediately sparked. Fire users were extremely rare and ferocious in combat. They could be terrible enemies, or vital allies. Altea had none.

"A fire user? Are you sure?"

She nodded, the same glimmer of excitement shining in her eyes. "His using was careless and wasteful; it's likely he hasn't had formal training." Neither Bern nor Dolua had fire users. This little thief might decide Altea's battles, so Marth resolved to postpone his own decision.

"Unfortunately, gentlemen, I must adjourn this meeting temporarily. A situation that requires my attention has just arisen." He gave them a curt nod and followed his sister out the door.

She led him down to the dungeons where two water users were guarding a holding cell. Cornelius Lowell had never believed in keeping prisoners inside the castle and their dungeons were mostly used for storage, but they left a few open for this kind of circumstance.

A boy with dirty red hair sat slumped against the wall, trembling and clenching his shackled fists. The tattered tunic draped over his angular frame did little to hide his vicious scars. Desperate rage emanated from every line on his body.

Marth nodded to the guards to hand over the keys. At the sound of the great swinging door, the boy raised his head. Despite the boy's state, the young king was unprepared for the savagery in those burning blue eyes. They were defiant and steady. He was not afraid.

Marth knelt before the boy, never averting his eyes.

"What is your name?"

The boy only glared at him, his expression was a challenge. He dared his interrogator to get information from him.

"How old are you?"

The boy only tightened his jaw, steeling himself for a blow. He would push his captor past his impatience, but he would also accept the consequences without complaint.

From the look of him, the boy had endured his share of torture and was prepared to take more before he spoke. Lucky for him, the king had no intention of harming this precious fire user.

Elemental Doctrine taught tranquility and balance; fire users were condemned as disruptive to the natural order. Elemental priests and Altean citizens alike hunted any who displayed the characteristics. Young fire users were extinguished.

Marth was looking at raw survival. Force would not do for this boy, nor would compassion. The boy was too headstrong to surrender a battle of will power and too proud to accept pity.

"Since it seems you are decidedly against cooperation, let me offer you a chance at confrontation." The boy's expression shifted subtly into a skeptical scowl, but Marth took it as permission to continue. "We will feed you and provide you with a weapon and if you can defeat me in a fair fight, you will be free to go. However, if you cannot, you must agree to stay here and study fire using under my instruction. These will be the terms of our deal."

The boy studied Marth's hard blue eyes, searching for a deception that wasn't there. He sunk back against the wall of his cell and begrudgingly murmured his agreement.

Marth stood and unshackled the boy, gesturing for him to follow. He dismissed the two guards and gave his sister a reassuring smile that told her he had the situation under control. She offered the guards a small curtsey and took her leave.

He led the boy to the kitchens where the disgruntled cooks served the would-be thief a generous helping of beef stew and a half-loaf of fresh bread. Marth took the opportunity to study the famished boy more closely. He could only be a few years younger than the king, perhaps fourteen or fifteen and his posture suggested more than humble origins. Beneath the layer of dirt coating his skin, and free of that unbearable scowl, he could see that the boy was surprisingly beautiful. With every moment Marth's eyes were on him, the more intrigued he became.

Once the boy finished, Marth led him to the armory where their duel was to take place. It was moderately crowded, as it usually was during the evening. Some of his more devoted knights liked to get in a little extra practice here when the training grounds were too dark. He saw a few of his captains were present, working off some of the aggression they had built up during the council meeting.

Even as the boy examined the variety of weapons, he didn't utter a word. Marth noticed that the boy seemed to have an eye for a good sword. He tested their edges, measured their grip, checked their weight and balance until he finally came to a blade that seemed to suit his size and build. The young king, a practiced swordsman himself, sensed that this fight would not be as easy as he had originally predicted.

The two boys positioned themselves in the center of the sizeable room, ten paces from each other, and had gathered the attention of most of their company. Curious whispers circulated around them.

"Altean Knights," their king commanded their attention and it was duly given. "This boy was caught stealing from the castle kitchens. In order to settle this matter, we will fight. No one is to interfere. Should the boy win, he is to go free without resistance, is that understood?" His knights affirmed it and Marth turned to his adversary, who wore a cynical smirk.

"Very chivalrous of you, your majesty. Flattering that you should handle my petty thievery personally. Unusual that Altea's king has nothing better to do than to put a commoner in his place. You are a weakling and a coward."

His poisonous words were only bait to the young king. His clarity of voice suggested valor and cunning. Marth wanted this ally all the more for it.

"And you are my better?" Marth wanted to provoke the boy further, wanted to lure more words from him, to know more.

"Every man in this room is your better. Warriors, they are. You are barely a man at all; unfit to call himself ruler of anyone." The boy was playing a dangerous game and he knew it. Not only was he pushing his luck with the king, he was pushing his luck with men who had sworn their lives to the king. Marth could imagine the boy standing among his knights with his passion and sense of justice.

"Then let us change the terms of our deal. Prove me less than a man." Marth wanted to see this boy battle with all of his heart, to fight for something he believed in. He could take a little risk to obtain his loyalty. Altea needed this boy. "Should I be rendered unfit to rule, you will be named Altea's king."

"I don't want your power." His beautiful features contorted into a grimace of disgust.

"If you don't want to be king, you can always choose a replacement. Any man would do, right?" The boy searched him with the same disbelief he had in the dungeon. He didn't find what he was looking for and nodded in grim agreement.

Marth called the attention of his knights once again, however unnecessarily, and announced the new terms of their agreement. Many of his knights looked uneasy about them, but an equal number, having seen their young king fight, were amused. He looked pointedly at the few captains present.

"These are my orders as king."

He turned to the boy before him and raised his sword in challenge. His adversary eagerly accepted the invitation and charged.

His style was aggressive and reckless. His strikes were fast and accurate. Marth fought him defensively at first, studying him, adjusting to his rhythm, just barely dodging and deflecting the boy's blows. He was impressed with the boy's enthusiasm and talent, but his movements seemed to be awkward and foreign.

The boy became frustrated with his inability to land a hit and instead retreated to launch a wave of flames at his opponent. The sudden change in tactics surprised Marth, but it was amateur at best; a simple ice shield was enough. A curious murmur spread through Altea's knights. They had never seen a live fire user before.

The boy staggered back, apparently astounded that the king was an ice user. Unusual. The Lowell family was notorious for having produced many of the world's ice users.

The boy recovered from his shock quickly and sent another furious wave at the young king, this one much larger and under less control. Marth easily deflected and dissipated it, but what he was most interested in was not the boy's ability, but the fact that he was using his sword and his element interchangeably instead of in conjunction. Without that harmony, his victory was impossible. He decided that the boy had had enough and descended upon him.

Once on the offensive, the young king proved to be a formidable foe. He landed several blows to the boy's thighs and rib cage, always using the flat of his blade. The fire user retreated, attempting to keep the fight ranged, and continued to send bursts of flame at his opponent, the sword in his hand forgotten. But Marth always deflected it and rushed in.

Finally, in one fluid motion, the king swept the boy's feet out from beneath him, knocking him to the floor and striking the weapon from him. It clattered out of his reach. The boy glared up at him, still ready to fight. Marth could see him planning his next move, but the fight was over.

The boy thought otherwise, and while Marth sheathed his own weapon, he shot flames into his adversary's face and made an attempt at retrieving the fallen blade. The king was too quick for him. He simultaneously shielded himself from the flame and cuffed the fire user to the floor beneath bands of ice.

"The duel is mine." He smiled down at his captive who was wide-eyed and dumbfounded and straining his wrists and ankles against their new shackles. The surrounding Altean knights had a few laughs and soon returned to their own sparring.

Marth gathered the boy's blade and returned it to its rightful place along the wall, retrieving a small dagger as he did so. He returned to the boy and knelt beside him.

"Let me teach you how to defeat me properly." The young king removed the bands of ice and offered the boy a friendly hand. The boy's lips were parted in confusion and indecision. He looked up into the king's smiling eyes, disbelief in his own, and cautiously took the offered arm.

Marth heaved him to his feet, excitement spreading through him. He had done it; he had secured the fire user. He could barely contain the grin threatening to explode from his lips.

"Come, I'll show you to your room and then we'll get you cleaned up." The boy didn't respond, but seemed enthralled by this unbridled display of hospitality.

Marth led him silently through the castle's hallways to an empty room close to his own. It had a secure lock and its own private bath. The young king didn't want to overwhelm his new guest by subjecting him to the knights' baths near the armory. After the boy's display, he wasn't sure how his army would receive him.

The two boys passed through a door beside the wardrobe into a small antechamber furnished only with a small pool of water and a rack for soaps and towels.

Without a word, the boy stripped out of his ragged tunic and descended the small stairwell into the cool water. He began to shiver almost immediately and Marth decided that now was as good a time as any to begin their training.

"The Lowell castle is always cold, especially in unused rooms like this one. Fortunately for you, there is a fire using technique that can remedy it." Marth explained to the boy how to focus only the barest wisps of energy inside of him and to emanate them, not as flame, but just as heat. He was quick to pick it up and in moments, the water was a pleasant temperature. The boy gave him an open, easy smile and for the first time, Marth saw him as more than just a fire user.

"What is your name?" The boy looked up from scrubbing his body clean, pausing to wonder at the king and his motives. He finally answered.

"Roy."

"Just Roy?" The boy seemed uncomfortable and hard-pressed to answer the question.

"Just Roy."

"How old are you?"

"Fifteen, I think." Roy went back to scrubbing off the sweat and dirt.

"Why did you steal from here?" The city's crime rates were low because its occupants could always rely on the Lowells in a time of hardship. This was the question Marth was the most interested in.

The boy halted his attentions to his own body again, searching for the right words.

"My father is dead. My mother has fallen ill. I couldn't think of anything else to do." He quickly started on washing his dirty red hair, as if hoping to put an end to the subject. It was too obvious that the boy wasn't telling him everything, but Marth decided that he had undergone enough this day and didn't pursue the matter.

Once Roy was clean, Marth could see that in fact his hair was a soft, unruly, cherry red and his skin was a faded gold. He thought that with a few square meals and little bit of training, the boy would soon acquire a healthy glow.

Marth handed him a towel as he climbed out of the bath, taking a step back as Roy shook the water droplets from his hair.

"Will your mother be alright without you?" Roy watched him curiously, but continued drying himself, waiting for explanation. "The castle's infirmary employs first class plant users and your mother will be well cared for, but if you can be spared, I think you should rest before we go into the city."

Roy dropped his wet towel over the rack. "She should be fine for tonight."

"Tomorrow morning, then." So Marth gave him a night shirt and a pair of drawstring pants to sleep in.

"One last thing." The ice user pulled out the dagger he had taken from the armory and handed it to Roy with a chain fashioned to its uniquely designed sheath; this dagger could only be released with a downward motion. "Keep this with you, always, but only use it if your life is in danger."

Roy slung the dagger around his neck, tucked it away beneath his night shirt and gave Marth a tentative look of gratitude. The young king nodded and told him to lock the door behind him.

As soon as the king had gone, Roy went into the private bath and traded his fresh pajamas for his street clothes. He decided to keep the gift from the king. When he finished changing, he quietly opened the bedroom door and checked the hall for sentinels. There were none.

Marth was too naïve.

The castle had been easy to get into and it would probably be easier to get out of. Roy paused in the middle of the hallway, considered sneaking into the king's bedroom, but decided against it. It was too risky; he didn't know where the Marth's room was and even if he found it, Roy didn't stand a chance at overpowering him.

He decided to cut his losses and head back to the safehouse.


	2. Chapter 2

Roy stood just outside the door, his legs trembling from the sprint back to the safehouse. He wanted to be as dirty as possible, hoping that the men behind the door wouldn't notice that he had bathed and eaten. If he had skipped his little meal attempt, he might have actually gotten what he had gone for. He scooped up a few handfuls of dirt and spread it over his sweat-coated skin. Undoing the past few hours was disappointing; it had felt good to be clean for once.

His breath still shaky and shallow, he pushed open the door.

The response was swift and brutal.

His feet were immediately swept from beneath him and he was shoved face first into the floor. From the vices on his arms and legs, he guessed that he had three or four men on him. Someone yanked his head up by his hair to identify him.

"It's just the kid."

They released him and allowed him to clamber to his feet. His legs were still shaking and he was as dirty as he'd ever been. Their affectionate greeting was standard procedure. Intruders were not tolerated. Even as he spoke, more men were prowling around the safehouse to make sure he hadn't been followed.

"Where is it?" A deceptively smooth voice announced the presence of their leader. Roy didn't know his name, but he also didn't care. He was just another cutthroat.

"I didn't get it."

Smack.

Roy stumbled backwards under the force of the blow, but he managed to keep his footing. The leader saw to that. He struck him again. This time Roy went down. The leader drove his heel into Roy's gut. He gagged, but, terrified that they would find out he had eaten, forced himself to swallow it down.

"You didn't get it?" Roy heard the dangerous edge in the leader's voice.

"No. He had it on him the whole time."

The leader let out a deep melodious laugh.

"And you couldn't force it from him? Was that weakling too much for you handle? Or did he hide behind his knights?" The leader and his minions had only ever spoken of Marth's cowardice and cruelty and though Roy put none of his trust in these men, the young king had never once proved it to be otherwise; these mongrels had free reign in Altea. But in the few hours that Roy had spent in the Lowell castle, Marth had put food in his belly, a weapon in his hand and clothes on his back; and as foolishly idealistic as his actions were, they were neither cruel nor cowardly. No, the cruel cowards stood before him. Roy turned his blazing scowl upon the leader.

"Useless."

From the far corner of the room came a soft moan. Roy saw his mother sprawled over a rickety little cot and felt a terrible guilty rage. It was his fault; she was the most effective harness they could put on his fire. He would never risk her safety. Every moment, her scarlet eyes were empty, her pale skin was grey, her delicate limbs were still, but he knew that deep inside her trance, she was searching for her son.

Unfortunately, she had also caught the leader's attention.

"I have no need of someone more useless than Altea's king, nor the woman who bore him." Roy could hear that sadistic smirk in his voice. "Except of course, as test subjects." He pulled out a small vile of dark red liquid and showed it to the battered boy sprawled on his floor. "A new poison one of my plant users recently developed. I have wanted to test it, but until only a moment ago, I could not spare a man." The leader paused and Roy knew he was deciding which of them to use. "I think your mother would like very much to be put out of her misery."

Roy let out a feral yell, but before he could even get off the ground, the men swarmed him. The fire user struggled wildly against them, thrashing and gnawing, but he couldn't break away. He strained frantically. He was outnumbered. He was desperate. His mother was in danger. He had a weapon. He pulled the dagger. Their hold was too solid. He couldn't reach them. The dagger was taken from him.

With his only weapon now gone, he was roughly restrained.

The leader advanced on the boy baring his teeth in a ravenous grin.

"Or perhaps you would like it a little more."

Roy glared defiantly up into the leader's face, hoping he looked stronger than he felt.

The leader's minions forced Roy to his knees, his head back, his jaws open as the contents of the vial were tipped into his mouth. When every last drop was spent, a hand sealed his mouth and nose shut while others coaxed the poison down his throat. He squirmed every moment, but they held him fast.

With the deed done, the men threw the boy to the floor. His body gave small involuntary twitches as the poison spread rapidly through his bloodstream. He could feel his heart recklessly trying to escape its rib cage, circulating the drug ever faster and straining his body to the point of deterioration.

Roy fought the poison's affects as long as he could, however futilely, and through his blurry eyes, he watched the leader gently gather up his mother's fragile body and carry her away. He heard a distant shuffle of feet and felt a faint twinge of pain in his left hand before he knew he was alone.

Who would protect his mother from them now?

And then he succumbed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"…put yourself at risk like that! You sensed that he was in a life-threatening situation, so you just stormed blindly into it! Why didn't you call for me?"

"There was no time. I'm the only one who could have located him fast enough. If I had hesitated, it might have been too late. He was in immediate danger."

"I know how you feel about protecting the Altean people, Marth-"

_Marth._

"- but your life isn't expendable either. What would Altea do if it lost two of its kings in as many months? Not to mention the last male Lowell!"

"Well then maybe you and Ellis would finally get married!"

"This is not a joke!"

Roy stirred from his heavy slumber. He turned toward the voices that provided landmarks in this dreamlike reality, but they had stopped. As he grew closer to where they had been, his body slowly reconnected with his brain. He was almost sorry that it did; everything ached and he groaned through raspy vocal chords.

"…m not dead?" He blinked his eyes open slowly. The lighting in the room was dim, but not gloomy like the safehouse. He was in a bed.

"How are you feeling?" Roy recognized the soothing quality of Marth's soft tenor, but he couldn't quite focus on him yet.

"…alive." Marth and his companion shared a quiet laugh at this and its pleasant sound was enough to steady Roy's awareness. The other man was tall and slender, older than the king, with long auburn hair. His face was sharp and strong, but his eyes were by far the most striking, dark and narrow, searing. Roy preferred the gentler curves of Marth's face and turned to the young king beside him. "Where am I?"

The two men at his bedside exchanged glances, silently communicating in a way that suggested a mutual trust. Marth's mysterious guest politely stood and left.

"You are in the castle infirmary."

Roy gave Marth a look of sheer bewilderment. It was impossible. He should have died within minutes of ingesting that poison. The ice user read his expression and pulled out the dagger. "Before I gave this to you, I sealed it with a ring of ice, as I have done just now." He held up the sheathed blade and showed Roy the fresh white band around it. "I felt you break it and tracked you through the ice." The young king's hands tightened around the dagger. "But I never thought that you would leave the safety of the castle. Thank the elements you were still alive when I found you." Roy saw genuine relief in Marth's expression, heard it in the tremor of his voice and it amazed him as much as his survival.

The young king handed it back to him with an encouraging smile. Roy held it tenderly, confusion hovering on his tongue. "This was taken from me after..."

"Well, someone gave it back." He nodded at Roy's bandaged left hand. The fire user flexed his hand, feeling only a slight ache, and returned the dagger to its proper place. As he did so, Marth rearranged his concerned expression into one of mock-solemnity.

"And now that I have saved your life, in spite of the fact that you did not honor the terms of our duel, I expect you to repay your debt by learning to use fire effectively."

"Who saved his life?" The two boys looked up to see a bouncy young girl with hair the color of a cloudless sky enter with Marth's earlier companion. She was slight of build, strong and graceful. Her bright eyes were the same brilliant blue as her waist-length hair and she wore a cheeky grin. "I'm pretty sure that of the two of us, I'm the better plant user." The young king rolled his eyes playfully and the girl stuck her tongue out at him. Roy watched the exchange with interest. He had never seen Marth behave without authority or reason in his expression.

"This little imp is a dear friend of mine and a very important ally from Talis: Princess Sheeda." As he spoke, the girl sprang to the side of the bed-ridden boy and shook his good hand. Roy thanked her sincerely for saving him, but there was one thing he thought was odd.

"Doesn't Altea have its own plant users?" He saw the girl's eyes darken to a deep shade of cool grey as she and Marth exchanged an ominous look. But it was brief.

"If you can call them plant users… I'm the best there is!" She said matter-of-fact with a mischievous smile. "Now let's see how you're coming along." She took a seat beside Marth to better check Roy's pulse and temperature. As soon as she decided they were normal, she commenced with a more invasive examination. He could feel her sending microscopic plant cells through his body.

It was so weird.

The process was slow. She guided her probes through his circulatory system, one hand hovering just over his skin where the little cells checked for any abnormalities. Her expression remained blank as she did so, all of her focus on Roy's blood. She had to be careful to avoid imprecision lest she damage the boy. But once it was over, she pronounced him healthy and poison-free.

"Navahl," Marth called to his companion who was waiting at the door. "Could you escort Roy to his room? There will be some training clothes for him in the wardrobe. I'll be there shortly." Both Sheeda and Marth helped Roy out of the bed, who noticed that he was still dressed in his thread-bare tunic. He was steadier on his feet than he had anticipated after his painful awakening.

Navahl gave Roy a small nod and led him into the hallway.

As soon as Navahl shut the door behind him, Sheeda whirled around to face the young king and the words all but poured out of her mouth.

"I think the poison had a dragon blood base." Marth's brows shot up in disbelief.

"That's impossible. Anri killed the last of the dragons generations ago."

"I know, I know. But I've never heard of any material anywhere in the world as effective as dragon's blood. When the dragons were still alive, many of the world's pioneering plant users studied and developed it; there are all kinds of texts on the subject. It augmented any substance it came into contact with, whether helpful or detrimental. Roy's poison was the most potent I've ever encountered. It's a miracle that he's even alive."

Yes, it was a miracle. Marth could remember the state of the boy when he had found him. In order to slow the poison's effects he had had to cool the fire user's body temperature to a dangerous low.

"But more important, who has access to that kind of potency, dragon blood or not? And who is using it?" Marth grimaced. Roy had been poisoned in this city and he had no idea how it had happened. The house he had found him in had been little more than a shack without windows or furnishings or any signs of life.

"And Marth…" The Talisian princess rarely hesitated to tell her friend anything. "…I think you should keep an eye on Garnef. I mean, maybe it's just his old age, but it's hard for me to believe he couldn't do anything for Roy and even harder for me to believe that such an accomplished plant user didn't even _suspect_ dragon blood." Marth nodded. When the king had called for his high priest, Garnef had quickly written the boy off as a lost cause. He hadn't thought much of it at the time, preoccupied as he was, but she was absolutely right. It was very strange, suspicious.

"Thank you, Sheeda. I don't know what I'd do without you." He smiled with appreciation and humility, but she threw her arms around his neck and gave him a playful kiss on the nose.

"And don't you forget it!"


	3. Chapter 3

Navahl led Roy to the room he should have woken up in. Once inside, he immediately discarded the rag that meant humiliation and suffering and opened the small wardrobe in the corner of the room. Marth had said that there would be training clothes for him, but he hadn't expected to find numerous sets. He chose a subtle blue tunic and pants a shade darker.

As he pulled the tunic over his head, he decided to ask Navahl something that had been mystifying him since Marth had offered him the deal in the dungeon. Though his features were intense and intimidating, his collected silence and attentive presence were a comfort and Marth seemed to trust him. He would probably have the answers Roy sought.

"Why does the king concern himself so much with me?" Navahl gave him an amused smile and for a moment didn't speak, considering his charge.

"It is mysterious, but Marth has always nurtured unique talent." The man folded his arms, his dark gaze settled on Roy. The boy felt as if Navahl could see everything behind his eyes, could sift through his thoughts at whim. He gave the boy an almost indiscernible smile of approval before he continued. "It was his kindness and care that brought me here to Altea." Roy blinked his surprise and forgot that he was dressing. He had thought that Navahl was the king's caretaker, the way Marth had commanded him, the modest attire, the silent obedience, but it seemed there was much more to their relationship than that. The older man observed Roy's bewilderment with an ambiguous smile. He nodded his head to remind the boy that he was still half-naked before he elaborated.

"Six years ago, Marth and I met in battle." There was a subtle shift in Navahl's expression as he began. His eyes softened, opened and Roy felt as if Navahl was not only telling him a story, but letting him see the very memories of its origin. Though the man spoke few words, the gravity in his low voice relayed the desperate and vicious circumstances under which he had encountered the boy king. "As we fought, he saw past my blades and lowered his own." Roy heard the lingering amazement in his words, remembered his own when those kind eyes had fallen upon him.

"He made me his companion when no one else trusted me." His voice had faded to a graceful whisper. "Like you, he took me under his wing in order to show me the things that I was lacking and helped me to attain them." At the close of his tale, Navahl sealed his eyes up again and became the sharp, calculating man he had been moments before. Roy finished changing in the following silence.

"You hold him in a very high regard."

"The highest. All of my happiness can be laid at the feet of that man."

"But you call him by his first name." Navahl smiled that enigmatic smile of his.

"I would never disrespect my dearest friend on mere ceremony." Roy opened his mouth to object, but found no words came to his aid. "And I think he would like it if you did the same."

Before Roy could protest, the subject of their exchange walked through the door.

"Forgive my delay." The young king seemed rattled upon entering, as if he weren't quite sure what the past few moments had held. "Are you ready?"

"Ready for what?"

"I want to start your instruction right away, but instead of the armory, I thought it would be better to get you outside. It'll be the training grounds today." As he relayed this news, he brightened considerably. Roy would even venture to say that the king was anxious and eager to teach him.

"You aren't thinking of going alone?" Navahl interjected, incredulity dripping from his every word. "How can you even consider it after last night's incident?"

"I won't draw my knights from their duties or their training for something so trivial." The young king's eyes were stolid. He would not be swayed on this issue and Navahl knew it.

"Then I will accompany you at the very least." It was clear in Navahl's face that he did not consider his safety trivial. Marth's expression softened; his friend's concern was appreciated.

"That won't be necessary, Navahl. Commander Jeigan is on the grounds today and the course is short." Then the young king put on a sly and mischievous grin. "And I wouldn't want you to neglect your responsibilities toward Ellis."

Roy was surprised to see a stubborn flush overtake Navahl's cheeks. He had only seen him lose his composure in the interest of the king's safety, and never had his face reddened so. The older man quickly regained control, though Roy saw his touch pass briefly over a slim white band around his middle finger before he spoke.

"Very well, but I won't forgive you if something does go awry." Navahl flashed a sharp look of warning at his sovereign before taking his leave. Marth responded with his own knowing gaze, but it was gone by the time his eyes fell upon Roy.

"Shall we?"

Marth led him to the castle stables, which were much larger than he anticipated. Where he had expected to find a few private horses carefully kept, he saw two long rows of stalls and a throng of Altean knights moving about them.

"Altea's cavalry unit." Marth explained. "Each knight is ultimately responsible for the care of his animal, but we do employ aspiring knights as stable boys, among other things, until they are fifteen and old enough to join the ranks." As he said this, he signaled one of the older boys. Almost instantly, the boy was bowing before them, awaiting his orders. "Two horses."

"Right away, sir!" The boy slipped skillfully through the sea of bodies, and returned quickly, leading the requested steeds as he did. He handed off their lead ropes to Marth and Roy with another swift bow.

The two of them led their horses out of the stables and Marth noted Roy's competence with riding. The boy seemed as comfortable atop the mare as he had handling a sword. He might have been military, but his young age belied his experience. The more he learned about the boy, the less he felt he knew.

Marth kept their pace slow on the way to the training grounds. In their short time together, they hadn't had much chance to talk and he decided that the short trek would be a perfect opportunity.

Roy saw it as such as well and decided to test his standing with the king. If what Navahl had said was true, he wouldn't be scolded for speaking to him without formality, but if what the leader had said was true, he would be flayed for his insubordination.

"…Marth?"

"Yes?"

Shit.

What now? He hadn't been reprimanded; in fact, Marth looked genuinely interested in what he had to say, but Roy didn't actually have a question prepared for the king, so he asked the first thing that came to his mind.

"…eh…who's Ellis?" Whatever Marth had been expecting, it hadn't been that, and it was apparent in his startled expression.

"Ellis is my sister. I'm sure you remember her; she was in the dungeon with us last night." Roy did remember her. She was slight and quietly beautiful, her long wavy hair the same rich azure blue as her brother's. Her eyes were kind. "She is also an ice user."

Another ice user. There had been none of those among the leader's men, and when Roy had chided them for it, they had beat into him that ice users were the rarest in the world because they were too weak to survive among the other users. He was curious about her.

"Navahl is her caretaker?" Roy recalled how willingly the man had left Marth's side in favor of the girl, despite his constant preoccupancy with the safety of his sovereign. The young king smirked to himself.

"You might say that." His light tone suggested that Navahl was much more to Ellis than her caretaker. "For as long as I've known him, Navahl has been smitten with her and very devoted to the well-being of the Lowell family."

"But you didn't let him accompany us today."

"No." A shadow passed over Marth's handsome features. "I wanted you alone. We need to talk about what happened."

Roy was reluctant to confess his humiliating experience with the leader and his minions. He didn't want Marth to see the worst of him, but he deserved to know.

Even so, he decided to test these dangerous waters first.

"My mother isn't ill." The king nodded solemnly, he had guessed as much. His muted reaction to this confession encouraged Roy to continue. "The same men who poisoned me are forcing her into submission with some other substance. I don't know what it is and I don't know why they're keeping her." As he spoke, Roy's voice trembled with his rage and frustration. He had thought they were only using her to control him, but even when they had left him for dead, they took her. "They are the silent rulers of Altea."

Marth jerked his mare to a halt.

Roy slowed his own mount and stopped beside his bewildered companion. According to the leader, Marth knew all about his undertakings and was too weak to stop him. But he had no idea.

"What? How could I not..?" Roy could feel the helplessness and disbelief roiling inside the young king. This wouldn't be easy on him.

"The leader is stealthy, paranoid. He never uses the same safehouse for more than a few days at a time. Even his minions rotate through the inns on a weekly basis. They have half the city in a terror and the other in their pocket."

"How many are there?"

"I couldn't say for sure; I was always kept in the safehouses with my mother." Roy shuddered at the memory of those safehouses. They had been dark places of torture and rage, vulnerability and degradation. "I know almost nothing about who they are or why they are so begrudged against Altea. I only know that they have done everything they can to undermine the peace and order of this city, perhaps others."

"Could you tell me where the safehouses are?" Marth's eyes were predatory. He wanted to put metal and ice through the flesh of his enemies.

Roy shook his head, cursing his own worthlessness. For all the time he had spent in those dank prisons, he didn't even know where they were. "Only the one you found me in."

"Just the one?"

"Whenever they moved to a different safehouse, I was bound and blindfolded. Last night was the first time I'd been outside without them. I was the only one they would risk sending."

"To kill me." Marth's expression was blank as he said this. His flat tone unnerved Roy. Yes, as royalty, his life was constantly forfeit to the course of history, but this detached acceptance of death made the weight of his position too clear.

"If I had to." Roy turned away from his companion, his voice dropping to a whisper. He didn't want to dwell on that possibility, that everything they had told him about this world was true, that there was no hope for Altea after all. "But I wasn't after your life; I was after you sword."

"Falchion?"

"Mm. The leader was desperate for it." Marth furrowed his brows thoughtfully and lightly spurred a heel into the side of his mount, urging her forward. Roy followed suit, continuing his tale. "He was so furious with me for returning empty-handed that… well… he killed me." The younger boy shrugged his shoulders with his last three words.

They rode in silence while Marth mentally reviewed the fire user's tale. He didn't doubt its validity; the previous night's events confirmed it. These terrorists would have to be dealt with, but as much as he wanted to storm Altea's inns and cut each of them down himself, he knew that this matter required more delicacy. His real adversary, this leader, was resourceful and elusive and would not be overthrown with force alone. He needed more information.

"Do you know what they used to poison you?" Surely something so potent and peculiar would hold some answer to their identity, but Roy shook his head.

"I only know that it was developed recently, but there is a good chance that it shares some qualities with their signature narcotic: Dragon Blood."

Marth started.

"Dragon Blood?"

"It's named for its color and the powerful vice it has over its user. They're using it to control the citizens of Altea."

When it came to things of such a sinister nature, Marth didn't believe in coincidence, but it simply couldn't be dragon blood. So many years ago, Anri Lowell had slain the last dragon with the very sword Marth carried by his side.

Either these men had managed to produce a remarkable dragon blood equivalent or there was something much more ominous happening in Altea. He could only pray it was the former.

As the two boys approached the edge of the training grounds, the ice user asked one last question.

"Have you ever tried Dragon Blood?"

Marth heard Roy's breath catch in his throat. The boy faltered.

"No, I haven't."


	4. Chapter 4

The training grounds spread over a vast expanse of green land. Roy saw that the field was divided into plots where Altean knights worked in units, perfecting various aspects of combat. In one area, men practiced technique with wooden swords. In another, weaponless men sparred with their respective elements. Around the edge of the grounds, a line of soldiers ran. In the very center of the tumult of bodies, captains led units of men in synchronized exercises.

Marth led Roy across the field towards a man with broad shoulders and a strong back. Only his white hair and the wrinkles around his eyes betrayed his age.

"How do they look, Commander?" The man turned at Marth's voice and a warm smile crept over his lips as they approached.

"Very fine, my boy. Energetic as ever." The commander clapped a fatherly hand on the king's shoulder and gave a hearty chortle. Roy thought of his own father. He had no memories of him, but he imagined that he was very much like this man. As Roy wondered, those soft brown eyes fell on him. "And who's this? A new recruit?"

"Of sorts." Marth beamed at the fire user. "This is Roy."

"Jeigan, Commander of the Altean Knights." The man extended a calloused hand, which Roy took. His shake was firm and friendly, but Roy felt the authority in it. He gave the boy a nod of approval and released him. "Are you a user, Roy?"

"Fire, sir."

"A fire user, eh? Altea hasn't had a fire user since before Cornelius' reign." The commander inspected the boy a second time; Roy felt fear under this man's scrutiny, as if his disapproval would bring terrible consequences. It was ludicrous, of course. Marth was clearly interested in his safety, and as king, would have it, but for the first time since his arrival at the castle, he felt that he was in the presence of a true ruler.

When Roy met Marth, he had expected to find a tyrant. Instead, he found a kind, if not somewhat naïve, young boy who had stumbled upon power. An equal, maybe a warrior, but no king. He had never feared Marth. Jeigan was a man, a commander who demanded respect and obedience.

"You'll make a fine knight, Roy." The fire user couldn't help but smile at the sanction. Jeigan turned to address the boy king.

"I suppose you'll be needing your space then."

"Yes. I'd like to avoid harming the other knights should things get out of control." The commander nodded his understanding.

All at once, he had the attention of the surrounding knights, waving them in different directions, bellowing orders and clearing the southwest corner of men. They reacted hastily, rearranging themselves as directed and within moments, the grounds settled back into the disciplined rhythm of combat training.

Marth thanked Jeigan for the favor and led Roy to the vacant area. While the two boys distanced themselves, Marth removed his cloak and belt, suspending Falchion high in the air with ice ringlets.

"No weapons?"

"Not today. Before weapons, we need to clean up your fire control. But first, we'll warm-up a bit; how much do you know about hand-to-hand?"

He knew much more than Marth expected. Like his swordsmanship, Roy's fighting style was swift and aggressive, his motions unpredictable. The young king delighted in dodging unexpected blows, exploiting defensive weaknesses and adapting to the boy's unique ability. But unlike their previous fight, Roy seemed relaxed and his liquid movements became more formidable for it.

When Marth was satisfied with their warm-up and thoroughly convinced of Roy's proficiency in close-range combat, he decided to test the extent of the boy's control.

He started Roy on something simple, something Marth had already seen him do. The young king erected an ice wall and had Roy send wave after wave against it in constant intervals, steadily increasing the tempo.

The fire user quickly got a feel for consistency, so Marth took him to the next level: accuracy. He condensed the ice wall into a hovering sphere and told Roy to try and hit it. The boy struggled a bit with the exercise, missing the snow-sphere completely the first few tries, but managing to master the skill as quickly as he had the first.

The young king had not expected such natural ability, but was delighted with his fire user's progress. He eagerly ran him through more drills. By sunset, Roy could manipulate streams of fire, launch fire in short projectile bursts, use fire defensively and accurately produce a flame at any point within a 30-foot radius.

"That's enough for today. We should head back." Marth panted in sweaty triumph. The pace was exhausting, but at the rate they were going, Roy would be a first-class user within a week.

Marth gathered his cloak and sword and the boys followed the departing knights toward the castle on foot. The course was slow but satisfying; they walked in the silent camaraderie of accomplishment.

As soon as they returned, a messenger greeted them with a summons for Marth; the council requested his presence immediately.

"Has Commander Jeigan been informed?"

"He has, my king. The commander departed only moments ago." The young king gave the messenger a nod of dismissal and turned to Roy. He didn't have time to escort the boy back to his room, but he didn't want to send him wandering alone through the castle either. It couldn't be helped.

"You remember your room?" Roy nodded. "And the kitchens?" Another nod. "Good. Go get something to eat, then head straight to your room and lock the door. You still have the dagger?" Roy placed a hand over where the trinket still hung and gave a third nod. Marth ran an anxious hand through his hair, still hesitant to let the fire user out of his sight again. "When I've finished with this, I'll come by to check on you." He smiled tentatively at Roy, hoping to appear more cheerful than worried. "So don't bother with running away this time."

Roy gave the boy king a reassuring smile as he departed. In fact, he had been thinking of running away again. Those beasts still had his mother and now that he could fight without risking her harm, he wanted to burn them all alive.

But if Marth was going to look in on him, Roy would have just a few hours at most before the king realized he was gone and tracked him down. He clutched at the dagger beneath his tunic.

He could leave it.

But what if he was still too weak?

Roy growled his frustration and let his hand fall away from the dagger. Not yet. He could only hope that his mother would last a little longer.

Marth arrived to find a room full of men in the same state as he: dirty, exhausted and keen on keeping the meeting as short as possible. He heaved an inward sigh as he took his seat; with his captains as irritable as they were, the meeting would most likely only result in heated tempers.

"The situation in Elibe is becoming more desperate." Garnef pursed his lips together as he spoke. "Though the Houses of Lycia are standing their ground, they fight a losing battle. Without immediate aid, Bern will soon take them and it will only be a matter of time before Zephiel expands into Akaneia."

"Then our decision is made. Altea will send support to Lycia." Jeigan's expression was stern as he spoke, but Marth knew that the commander was relieved that the threat would be dealt with.

Unfortunately, a more sinister threat lurked within Altea's capital. Should Altea send its knights, the terrorists Roy had described would surely exploit the opportunity. Not to mention the neighboring Doluans. The young king had seen those battlefields six years ago and he knew how thirsty Dolua would be for Altean blood. Marth would not leave his nation exposed. He stood to address the council.

"Agreed. Altea will send her knights, but Altea's security shall remain our priority. Should we fail in Elibe, or should Dolua decide upon revenge, our forces must not be weakened--" Suddenly, he was hit by overwhelming fatigue and had to brace himself on the table. He realized that he had broken out into a cold sweat and that his body was trembling.

Marth took a few moments to steady himself and push himself upright again.

"Forgive me gentlemen. It seems I have worn myself too thin on the grounds today. I'm afraid that we must suspend this discussion for a time when my mind is clearer." Though the captains seemed relieved that they were free to go, Garnef and Jeigan seemed aggravated that the matter had again been postponed.

The young king lingered in the council room checking his heartbeat and temperature. Both were irregular. Strange. As a boy, he had participated in much more intense training sessions, but he had never broken out in fever because of them. Perhaps the stress of the previous night was finally taking its toll on him.

It was nothing a little bed rest couldn't cure.

Restless and feeling uneasy about leaving his mother in the leader's clutches, Roy sat on the stone floor summoning tiny flames. He had skipped the kitchens, his appetite absent, and hadn't bothered to bathe or even change out of his training clothes.

He had just finished writing his name in lines of fire, when he heard a faint knock at his door. Marth couldn't have been gone for more than half an hour, but who else could it be?

Just in case, though.

"Who's there?"

"It's me, Marth."

Roy gathered himself up off the floor with some effort, his body sore from the day. He unlocked and opened the door to find Marth barely standing and ghostly pale.

"You look terrible." The ice user gave a pained laugh.

"So do you. What have you been doing in here?" He glanced over Roy's shoulder at the name still burning on the ground. He lifted his eyebrows in surprise. "You can write."

"Mm." Roy had always been able to write, thought nothing of it, but Marth's disbelief insulted him a little. The king must have read the annoyance in his expression, because he made an attempt at apology.

"Most of my citizens find that literacy is a useless skill, but I suppose I should have expected it of you." Marth smiled softly at Roy, who wasn't sure what he meant nor cared enough to pursue it. "But more importantly, you should bathe and get plenty of rest; we'll be training again tomorrow."

"I think you need it more than I do." Though the king was standing of his own volition, he looked as if he would collapse every moment. Marth smiled half-heartedly before changing the subject.

"I'm going to lock you in—the window too. I'll come for you in the morning."

"What!? Lock me in!?" Roy was furious. His flickering name erupted into an inferno as he lost his tempter; the ice user scarcely managed to quell it in time to spare the room's furnishings, but Roy paid none of it mind. He had stayed under the pretense that he was not a prisoner and that he was free to leave whenever he liked. Marth might as well be keeping him in a cell. "I'm not going to run! I'm still here, aren't I!?"

"Then it shouldn't matter either way."


	5. Chapter 5

Marth's sleep was anything but restful; he awoke the next morning weak and worn and worse than the night before. He didn't fully dress in an attempt to save energy, and lumbered into the hallway. Sheeda's bedroom wasn't far.

She threw the door open at the first soft knock and greeted him with a sunny smile. No matter how many times he felt the warmth of her welcome, Marth always relaxed and brightened. Her infectious cheer alone was enough to restore him precious energy. She was a damn fine healer.

"You should really be more careful, Sheeda. I might have been an assassin." The young king scolded his friend playfully.

"Yeah, because assassins like to knock before they come in." The Talisian princess rolled her eyes and locked the door behind him. "Besides, no one knows I'm here!"

"You never know." Marth gave a small shrug. "But more importantly—"

"More important than assassins?"

"—I'd like you to take a look at me; something isn't right." Sheeda started, but became the professional plant user she was notorious for. She led Marth to her bed and laid him back, immediately commencing with a routine vitals check.

Unsatisfied with the results, she moved away to pull some instruments from a bag atop her chest of drawers. "How long?"

"Twelve hours since I first felt the affects." Sheeda hummed acknowledgement and brought a short blade and a few vials to the young king. She made a small incision in the crux of Marth's arm and bled him for samples.

"You didn't come to me twelve hours ago?" She spread the vials over the bed and began running her fingers over them, sending plant cells through each to check his blood for abnormalities.

"I was occupied elsewhere; I am a king, you know." She shot him an impatient glare before returning to her scan. When it came to Marth's health, she didn't tolerate carelessness; he should have known better than to joke with her. "I thought it was exhaustion at first, but this morning…"

"Mm." Sheeda paused over one of the vials. She held her hand poised above the vial. Marth could see his blood slosh against the walls of its container as Sheeda ran more cellular sentinels through it.

"I guess you weren't so far off with assassins…" She murmured softly. "You've been poisoned."

The Altean king raised his brows. He gathered from the heavy lilt in her voice that the toxin perplexed her in a very ominous way. It was something she had never seen before, and it seemed it was something she had hoped to never see.

"Can you make an antidote?"

Sheeda shook her head. "But I can remove it, and that should be enough." Poison removal was dangerous. Only the most skilled and precise plant users could do it. Someone really wanted him dead.

Unfortunately for that someone, Marth's best friend happened to be one of the most skilled and precise plant users in the world. He had watched her remove Roy's poison deliberately and efficiently, fast enough to save the dying boy.

Sheeda sat down beside him and started near the incision in his arm. She drew miniscule amounts from the opening and transferred them into a vial. But, this wasn't the method she had used the previous morning.

"You drew the poison from Roy's mouth yesterday."

"Roy swallowed his poison. Whoever poisoned you didn't bother to spike your food; they just went straight for your blood. And unless someone has recently cut you open, we're talking about an incredibly powerful plant user."

"Better than you?"

Sheeda halted; the task couldn't spare her focus to disquiet.

"I'm serious! A poison of this nature is complex, almost undetectable! It would be extremely difficult to make under normal circumstances! I can't even imagine what kind of power it takes to manifest it _inside_ someone!" Sheeda was bordering shrill, despite, or perhaps because of, Marth's attempt at lightheartedness.

A muted 'Oh' was the extent of the king's surrender. The plant user returned to her task, only slightly ruffled. Marth tried to ease her annoyance with a dispassionate query.

"What is the nature of the poison?" The young king was relieved to see his friend's posture relax into a scholarly bearing.

"It's very delicate; I don't think it would have survived in your stomach. In your blood though, it would spread an infection. I think that in another twelve hours, the poison itself would have dissolved too far along to be removed. It's also slow-acting as an illness; you would have been bedridden for many days, maybe weeks. If you hadn't come to me so soon, I don't think anyone would have ever known that you were poisoned."

Sheeda drew the final remnants of the poison from Marth's bloodstream and corked the vial containing it. She tucked it away into a pouch at her side for later study and turned back to her recovering friend.

"Marth, maybe he wasn't involved in Roy's incident, but this time..."

He nodded. If anything Sheeda had said about the poison was right, only Garnef could have accomplished it. He was one of the world's foremost plant users and as the high priest, had access to the king. More than access, Altea's high priest could lay claim to the crown if the king died without an heir.

Unmarried and the last male in the Lowell line, Marth was the only one standing between Garnef and power over both church and state.

"Something is happening in Altea... I don't know who to trust anymore." The Talisian princess smiled sweetly and took Marth's hand in hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. She understood the political game better than most, better than Marth. "I think it would be best if no one knows I'm well; I'll probably need a favor of you, Sheeda."

The plant user leapt up off the bed and gave her friend an exaggerated bow. "Your wish is my command, my liege."

"Announce your arrival in Altea to treat your unwell friend."

Sheeda pouted at the suggestion.

"But then Talis will send someone to collect me!"

Marth rolled his eyes.

"You didn't even tell your father that you're here? I know he doesn't like me, but it's been three years!"

The renegade princess huffed. "Well you said it was urgent! I didn't exactly have time for a send-off!"

"I suppose I did. Thank you for staying." Marth gently smiled. Sheeda unfolded her arms and returned the affectionate gesture.

"How is the fire user doing?"

"He's healthy, a little volatile, very talented." The young king swung his legs over the side of the bed and found that his feet were steady against the floor. He needed to attend to the undoubtedly irritated fire user. Roy was probably anxious to get back to action, but unfortunately, Marth had to put their training on hold in favor of investigation. This sinister assassination attempt could not be taken lightly and the young king suspected its timing was more than a coincidence.

"Volatile, hm? Trustworthy?"

"Trustworthy enough."

Sheeda pursed her lips. That was not the answer she was looking for. As well as medical, the Talisian princess acted as Marth's diplomatic watchdog.

"Will he know you're well?"

"He'll never know I wasn't."

Roy had slept little. Marth had locked him in. Marth hadn't trusted him to stay. Marth had imprisoned him. His frustration and fury inflamed him. He wanted to escape. He wanted to punish his captor. He wanted to burn the castle into oblivion.

But the day had so exhausted him that his rage eventually took him down. Roy had collapsed onto the bed, sweat and grime still coating his skin. He rose a few hours later, before the sun, and had relaxed enough to manage a quick wash and change of clothes. The fire user practiced until the first signs of light shone through the locked window, but soon grew impatient.

His mother could be dying.

Where was that royal prick?

When Roy finally heard the knock, after hours of riling himself against his warden, he could barely contain himself. The boy wanted to strike the king for bothering to knock.

"You can let yourself in."

Marth did just that. Roy glared at the latecomer, ready to lay into him with some choice lines of fire. He could feel a growl rising in his throat.

"Finally ready to release me, sire?"

"I'm sorry, Roy." Roy's anger cooled a bit for the sincerity in those words, but just so. "I was… delayed."

"Whatever. Let's just go." The fire user stalked towards the hallway, but Marth took hold of his arm, yanking the boy to a halt. Roy almost tore his arm from its socket trying to wrench away from the young king. Marth held him firm. "What?!"

Marth gave him an irritatingly patronizing smile. "Your training will take place elsewhere today."

The ice user loosened his grasp and Roy immediately jerked out of it. His curiosity took the edge off his temper and out of his voice. "Where?"

There was that smile again.

They didn't have to go far. Marth led Roy only a few doors down.

"A… bedroom."

"Mine, actually." Roy tensed. Altea's king might be naïve and infuriating, but Roy had never suspected that he was one of _those_ kings. He could feel the muscles in his legs twitching, ready to bolt.

Marth stepped forward, placing himself in front of a blank wall opposite the bed, gesturing for Roy to join him. The fire user hesitated, but followed. It would do him no good to disobey.

Roy watched as the young king produced a crescent blade of ice and made a small slit in the pad of his index finger. He smeared a line of his blood across the wall and instructed that Roy do the same, offering him the blade.

Slightly confused, Roy went along with it.

"What are we doing?"

Marth's answering smile was ambiguous.

"Past this wall lies an impenetrable chamber that the Lowell bloodline has been using since the time of Anri." Roy's eyes went wide as their blood faded into the stone. "Anri, too, was an ice user and he liked to experiment with blood using, an uncommon and… special brand of using. When he built this castle, he used his own blood and ice; these walls will only yield to Lowell blood."

The ice stones retreated into themselves, leaving a man-sized entryway.

"And now, they will yield to you."

Roy cautiously, curiously palmed the open wall. It was a truly amazing feat; he had never seen its like. An ice castle. No wonder it was always so cold.

"You will be safe down below. No others have access to that room."

"Sheeda?"

"Not even Sheeda."

"Navahl?"

Marth visibly suppressed a smirk.

"Not yet."

"Why me?"

Roy saw Marth hesitate.

"Navahl and I are going into the city today. You'll be safe down there until we return."

Roy's anger instantly flared.

"Locking me in again?! Why don't you just put me back in the dungeon!?" He could feel his body heating, burning to explode.

Marth shook his head.

"Imprisoning you was never my intention."

"Well whatever your intention, you brilliantly managed to sidestep it! I won't be idly confined for your convenience, _your majesty_, while my mother grows weaker by the moment, if she lives at all!" Roy fired a molten sphere at the king, launching himself behind it. When Marth threw up a blockade against the flames, Roy drove a fist through it. The ice user barely managed to escape the shards, but Roy found his mark.

Marth stumbled under the force of the blow, managed to throw his aggressor off. He capitalized on Roy's imbalance, securing an ice cuff around each wrist.

Marth pinned the boy to the wall.

Roy felt the temperature of the room drop several degrees. The blue of Marth's eyes was dangerously sharp. Roy had never seen him lose his cool.

He had never before feared him.

"I will not compromise this mission nor endanger Altea because you cannot control yourself." The edge of Marth's voice was subdued and terrifying. The air in the room was biting. The fire user could hardly withstand it. "And I will not endanger you."

The ice user turned to leave, his rage echoing quietly in his every step.

"You will stay here until we return. Your meals will be brought to you." He paused at the door, turning those hard eyes on his stunned captive. Roy's arms fell limp as the cuffs dissolved.

"You may burn everything in this room."


	6. Chapter 6

Oh. He would burn it.

The room had quickly become an inferno. Roy could feel a yell exploding from his lungs, but it faded beneath the roar of the flames.

He was such a coward.

The boy king hadn't laid a finger on him, but Roy had never been more afraid in his life. He had defied the leader without fear. He had fought men twice his size without fear. He had faced his own death.

But Marth's quiet fury had frozen the marrow in his bones.

He was so weak.

Roy's throat burned with his feral cry as he fueled the fire.

Everything was alight, but, whether from the ash or lack of air, Roy could see only black.

He fell to his knees, heaving in vain. The doors and windows were all but sealed in ice; no air would reach him here. He was going to die on this floor.

"Why, this is the most unrefined using I have ever seen!" Roy heard a scolding voice through the dying fire before he collapsed. He heard the windows fly open, felt smoke rush past him towards freedom. Sweet, fresh air filled his withered body. It hurt so good.

Roy rolled over onto his side, gasping and coughing up ash.

As he lay, trembling, he saw two small slippered feet approach.

"Unbelievable." His savior clicked her tongue. A small hand hauled him off the ground and held him steady. "Look at you. You are absolutely filthy!"

Roy barely had time to notice that he was indeed charred and very filthy before the girl shoved him in front of her and towards the Lowell wall. When the stones yielded to the both of them, he realized just who was escorting him down the steps like a wayward child.

His shame and fury returned.

At the bottom of the staircase was a room much like the one Roy had just destroyed except its furnishings were much more refined and subtly luxurious. He caught sight of a door in a corner of the room. Ellis pushed him past a wardrobe and a weapons store toward a bathing room.

Before Roy had a chance to size up the private royal bath, the Lowell princess threw him into it.

He crashed through the surface, a cloud of ash blossoming in the water around him. He was completely disoriented, suspended in darkness. As soon as he found the tiled floor, he burst from his watery prison.

Ellis stood at the edge of the pool, hands on her hips, dainty mouth drawn into an annoyed line.

"What were you thinking? You could have died." Roy felt a smug sense of satisfaction when he heard the irate tremor in her voice. She was not as composed as she seemed. She might be an angry Lowell, but she wasn't her brother. "You _would_ have died."

The fire user curled his lip; he had been saved. Again.

The water around him started to slowly boil as his frustration returned.

He was so weak.

Suddenly the temperature of the water dropped to an unbearable low. Roy would have cried out if the shock hadn't paralyzed him.

"Don't even think about trying any more ridiculous stunts. If you don't cool your little temper, I'll shackle you to the wall until Marth returns." Feeling began to seep back into Roy's limbs as she spoke. The sharp sting of the cold cut through him. His body contorted in response, back arching, fists clenching. He couldn't even scream.

Ellis released Roy from the water's vice and knelt down beside the pool of water. The same tremor in her voice was in her blue eyes. "I don't want to shackle you to the wall, but you need to stop putting yourself at risk."

Roy relaxed into the warmer water and gave her a slight nod. He knew he was behaving like a child. He knew Ellis harbored only goodwill toward him. He knew his shame was appropriate.

The fire user took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself. He might be weak, but he was strong enough to keep his temper in check. Living the way he had, conditioning his rage had been necessary. If he let any outburst slip, it would mean endangering his mother.

"_I will not compromise this mission nor endanger Altea because you cannot control yourself." _

Roy clenched his jaw, trying to forget Marth's refusal to bring him into the city. His anger would only return. He didn't want to show gentle Ellis his frustration again.

"Now, you clean up. There are clothes for you in the wardrobe. When you finish, lunch will be waiting for you upstairs." As she said it, Roy remembered that he hadn't eaten since his first night in the castle. He was so accustomed to starvation that regular meals were still a little foreign to him.

She held out her arms for his clothes and as soon as he had stripped down, she swept them away and left him to bathe.

It didn't take much to get the grime off his skin, but he had to really scrub it out of his hair and he suspected that the smell of smoke would linger another day or two. When he finally finished, he ascended the porcelain steps, padded over to the towel rack and rubbed himself dry.

He tried not to think about anything. For now, all he could do was become stronger.

He went to the wardrobe in the main room and found that clothing from his bedroom had been moved here for him. He pulled on a training outfit. Marth might not be here, but Roy didn't need him to polish skills he already had. The fire user climbed the steps to the Lowell wall and passed through it into the empty room above.

The fire user found Ellis clearing out the last of the ashes and saw that she had brought a healthy serving of beef and potatoes and two mugs, one full of milk, the other full of water.

"Eat up; you must be hungry."

He was hungry. So he sat down and obeyed.

Ellis tossed the last of the ash outside and sealed the windows up again. Roy suppressed his annoyance; fine prison though this room was, it was a prison nonetheless.

"How is it?" His new warden arranged herself on the floor across from him. He gave her a little nod to show his approval. She giggled softly. "Good. I'll be preparing all of your meals from now on." Roy looked up from his plate, surprised. He almost dropped his fork.

"…really?" She was Altea's princess. What was she doing in the kitchen?

"Well we can't have you poisoned again, can we?" Roy stiffened, but said nothing. She reminded him of Navahl when she smiled. She could see inside him. "It's only a precaution; it is not a reflection against you. I've been cooking for Marth since he was a boy."

Roy's cheeks flushed. He shouldn't be so easy to read. Ellis smiled knowingly.

"I'm not sure what kind of precautions we can take against your using though." Roy looked up from his food to see a playful glint in her eye. She might not share her brother's discipline, but she certainly had the same teasing smirk. "What upset you so?"

Roy paused.

"They left me behind."

"Are you lonely?"

"No." Was he lonely? He had never been alone in the safehouses; he'd always had his mother. "I want to make sure my mother is alright." That wasn't all. He had been furious with Marth. "And I wouldn't have been a burden."

Ellis reached over and tweaked his nose.

"Hm. Don't be so arrogant, darling. That was some of the worst using I've ever seen." The fire user growled in his throat at her condescension. "Don't look at me like that. How can you expect Marth to put the well-being of Altea in your hands?"

_"I will not compromise this mission nor endanger Altea because you cannot control yourself."_

Roy had only heard rejection in the king's words, not reason. Ellis continued.

"Can you swear that if the situation came down to choosing between following Marth's orders and helping your mother, you could be loyal to him?"

All of the propriety and prodding had left her expression. Ellis was really looking into him, watching his eyes, waiting for his answer.

"No."

She smiled.

"My brother understands that. How can he expect you to choose him? He wanted to keep you from that; he wanted to protect you."

"He doesn't need to protect me."

Ellis giggled.

"Just indulge him, darling." Roy raised a quizzical eyebrow. "You're his fire user." Altea's princess took a small piece of beef off Roy's plate and popped it into her delicate mouth. "I'm sure he didn't tell you this, but we Lowells can only give one person access to that place."

Roy gaped.

Ellis didn't seem to notice as she picked out another bite and continued to muse. "That one person has traditionally been our spouses." She laughed a little to herself as she nibbled at the meat. "But Marth has always said that Altea is his only lady."

Her eyes fell on him and she smiled.

"He wants to protect Altea's fire user."

Roy composed himself. That was the secret. He couldn't take Marth's behavior toward him personally. The king did not think of him as a friend or as a prisoner, but as an ally and an asset.

"He also wants to cultivate Altea's fire user. I'll be training you in my brother's stead."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Marth leaned against the side of a tavern, careful to bury himself in his cloak. It was hard for him to run reconnaissance in Altea's capital because he was so easily recognized. Navahl had to bear the burden, but Marth was always close by.

The young king watched as Navahl honed in on two men swaggering down the street. He saw his bodyguard twitch his wrist, urging him to follow. Marth pushed off the wall and trailed behind the wind user.

They didn't have to follow for long. The two men stopped at a small house and pounded on the front door. Marth thought he recognized it as the home of one of Altea's apothecaries.

As soon as the front door opened, the two muscles forced their way into the house. Navahl signaled Marth closer. The two of them approached the side of the house, near enough to listen.

What they heard infuriated the young king. They heard shouting grating against frightened murmurs, rattling furniture becoming violent crashes.

Marth couldn't handle it. He wanted to throw himself through the window and massacre those two thugs. He had been born to protect Altea's citizens and they were suffering. The enraged royal tensed. His companion placed a firm hand on his shoulder. The gesture was meant to be reassuring, but it was also meant to be a threat. Navahl would stop him if he tried anything rash.

The boy king breathed deep, reminded himself of why they were here.

Maybe not now, but he would stop this silent enemy and put Altea at peace.

The two men left shortly after they had arrived.

Navahl smirked at the ice user beside him.

"Shall we?"


	7. Chapter 7

Marth and Navahl trailed the assailants through the city. One followed a hundred feet behind while the other kept pace in a side street. The two pursuers switched positions every five hundred yards in an attempt to remain unnoticed.

The muscle men tread slowly, joking and jostling each other, completely carefree. Marth watched them, seething; these terrorists felt at ease in Altea, confident in their power. He and Navahl could trail ten feet behind them without prompting any alarm. The young king could tear off his cloak before them without inspiring any fear.

"_They are the silent rulers of Altea."_

Marth's hand twitched over Falchion; from the very first moment he could recall, he had only thought of his beloved nation, of protecting her. These men violated her with an easy smile. Marth felt his Lowell blood screaming in his veins. He restrained himself. Altea couldn't afford his anger; their prey would do them no good dead.

On the outskirts of the city, the two men approached a nondescript house. Navahl and Marth kept their distance.

"Safehouse?"

"Yes." Navahl confirmed. "There are security wind-currents."

"Let's find out what they're hiding."

Marth circled the small, square shack, leaving his wind user to assess the sensitivity of the currents. The house was hardly bigger than the one he'd found Roy in. For all the power these secret rulers possessed, they clearly invested few resources in shelter.

"_The leader is stealthy, paranoid."_

The shack had no windows, but, like a good safehouse, had an entrance and an exit. He and Navahl could probably storm the place with some success, but the security currents defeated their surprise element. For now, all they could do was observe.

Marth returned to his bodyguard, recounting the house's layout, curious for Navahl's report.

"Who do we have inside?"

"He's powerful." Navahl turned a mischievous smile on the boy king, a smile specially reserved for the younger man. "He'll only allow thugs and dust past that barrier."

"Dust, you say?" Marth's smile reflected Navahl's. As boys, they had perfected a variety of espionage techniques, including sound-transmitting ice particles, for making mischief and playing pranks on Ellis. Marth manifested a flurry of snowflakes, splitting them until they were undetectably fine. He maneuvered the flakes through the wind currents, arranging them around the doors and between slats of wood. As Navahl had predicted, the powerful wind user showed no response to the tiny particles.

The two men retreated out of sight where Marth created a thin plate of ice that would serve as a receiver. He suspended the plate in the air between them so they could hear inside the safehouse.

"…keep her around? Fire boy's dead, isn't he?" Pause. The man's voice became a lustful rasp. "Can we have her, then?"

_Slam_. All sound from within was temporarily jarred by the rumble of the walls.

"Touch her again, and you'll join the fire user." The voice of authority dropped to an affectionate purr. "She is not to be harmed."

"_I don't know why they're keeping her."_

Neither did Marth. Not only was Roy's mother alive, she was protected. "If there are no more interruptions?" After another pause, the man Marth could only assume was the leader spoke again. "The Lowell brat has been successfully poisoned. He will go the way of his father."

Marth started.

"_It's also slow-acting as an illness; you would have been bedridden for many days, maybe weeks. If you hadn't come to me so soon, I don't think anyone would have ever known that you were poisoned."_

His father? Assassinated? His sudden death had been a shock, but his reign of reform had been a constant struggle. And though Cornelius had many enemies, foul play had never been suspected. Garnef had deemed exhaustion the cause.

Garnef.

Was he conspiring with these monsters? He was almost certainly responsible for the attempt on Marth's life. Had he killed Marth's father? Cornelius had trusted him completely, consulted him with every decision. Garnef had even chosen his wife. Why would the high priest murder his closest companion?

He tried to shake the thoughts from his head. It was outrageous. Garnef infinitely preferred Cornelius' rule to Marth's. If he was going to kill anyone, it was the independent boy king.

But Marth's assassination attempt had come only two months after. Was it so outrageous?

Regardless of whether or not Garnef was involved before, the men inside the safehouse had been.

"Now go, tell the others. Leave me"

Marth had heard those words before.

"_Leave me_."

This man was older, gruffer, but the silken timbre of those two words was eerily familiar.

Before Marth could place the voice, the other occupants of the shack emerged from the front door, murmuring amongst each other. The ice user dissipated his transmitters and threw his cloak over him. Navahl separated himself from his sovereign, following the cluster of heathens along another road.

Marth stayed behind, hesitant. Roy's mother was in that house. Altea's disease was in that house. Marth needed to get inside. But if this leader was as paranoid as Roy made him out to be, there were several bodyguards in there with him. Marth was a swift killer, yes, but the time it would take him to cross the security currents and lay them out would give the wind user inside enough time to react. And short of tearing the place apart, nothing Marth could do would give him the required surprise advantage.

He couldn't. There were too many variables. The frustrated king clenched his jaw. He was so close, so close to the man violating Altea. But now was not the time.

He tore away from the shadows, following a pair of stragglers. Sure that no others were around, Marth signaled his cohort and the two silently descended upon their prey.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"You might just be the quickest learner I have ever met!" Ellis excitedly exclaimed as Roy mastered drill after drill.

The two sat across from each other, cross-legged, while Roy created concentric rings of fire around them, carefully tracing them out on the ground. It was a difficult exercise, especially for a fire user; not only did he need to manage creating the rings, he had to keep them steadily burning.

Once he completed the task. Ellis instructed him to expand and shrink them simultaneously. But after the previous assignment, it required almost no effort on Roy's part, so he turned his focus on his teacher. She had been the one to finally capture him after he had been caught stealing and though she had imprisoned him, he had felt no ill-will from nor toward her. She was more relaxed than her brother and more open than Navahl.

"So what does being Altea's fire user entail?" Ever since she had labeled him as such, he had been wondering what exactly he had gotten himself into. When he agreed to study fire using, he hadn't foreseen much longevity in the arrangement. He would learn, save his mother and then leave.

Clearly, Marth and Ellis thought differently. The young king had already given Roy blood access to the Lowell castle and Ellis had said he belonged to Altea.

And why not? Once he had his mother safe and secure, he didn't actually have anywhere to take her. A castle would do just fine.

Ellis smiled, pleased that he was warming up to the idea. "Little more than a figurehead, I'm sure." Roy raised an eyebrow, silently questioning the royal attention he was getting. The princess giggled quietly. "Fire users are intimidating to unfriendly nations, yes, but should the bluff be called, you must be ready." She paused. "And alive, of course."

"Of course." The dagger, the lockdown, the Lowell room. Roy scowled. "Because I can't keep myself alive."

"Apparently not." Ellis teased. "It seems like every time Marth leaves you alone, you get yourself killed!"

"Not every time!"

"Well, darling, two near-misses isn't going to convince my little brother."

"Those weren't my fault!"

"So you didn't let your temper get the best of you? You didn't run away from a warm bed in favor of poison? "

"I couldn't leave my mother!"

"Marth would have gone with you." She said gently, trying to calm him. "But you refused him." Roy frowned. He felt like a child, being scolded for his bad judgment. It seemed her brother had told her everything.

"I wasn't going to hand him over to them." The princess smiled Navahl's smile.

"In any case, you need to be more careful; Altea needs you alive. And trust my brother. I know he can be a bit…vague… with his actions, but his intentions are always good."

Roy ran frustrated hands through his hair.

Trust.

Marth regarded Roy as something to be protected. He saw him as a means to an end.

Not yet.

The princess unfolded herself and stood up. "I think we can stop here for today. You should rest; your training will only get harder tomorrow."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Marth and Navahl had hauled their quarries back to the castle and thrown them into separate dungeons. They would be interrogated alone.

Marth hated the dungeons. He had been happy when his father had built a prison on the other side of the city. He had been less happy when his father had reopened a few cells during the Doluan war.

Spies and assassins met sinister fates in the castle dungeons; King Cornelius spared no sympathy.

Marth had been ten years old when the war had started, when the tortures had started. His father had deemed him ready to face Altea's enemies. The ice prince witnessed interrogation after interrogation with wide eyes. He had been horrified, but he knew his father's victims deserved their deaths.

When Cornelius told him that he too would need to participate, he had thrown up at his feet. His father had scolded him for his cowardice; he was royalty; maintaining order and eliminating enemies were his sacred duties; he needed these skills.

So Marth had followed his king into the dungeons where a Doluan awaited him. The man had been starved, chained to a wall, beaten. Marth wanted to throw up again, but he held his composure. He didn't dare show fear in front of his father. He was royalty.

He had drawn his sword. He wouldn't lay his hands on this poor soul.

Cornelius had asked the questions while his son inflicted the damage. Marth was hesitant; the cuts he made were quick and shallow, superficial. He had known his father was growing impatient, but he couldn't stomach any more than that.

The man gave up nothing.

Cornelius let his son stop.

They would continue the next day.

Marth had bolted from the dungeons, streaming tears, and run straight into his sister's reassuring embrace. He had trembled and cried and cursed.

"I can't do it. I'm such a coward."

Ellis smiled softly. "Don't be ridiculous." He blinked curiously up at her, tears clearing away. "You may not be father, but you are not a coward."

"But…" His protest died on his lips.

"Altea needed father's severity, yes, but soon Altea's strength will be restored and then she will need your integrity. King Cornelius will get Altea on her feet. King Marth will teach her how to walk." She gave his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. "Don't try so hard to be like father."

Marth untangled himself and knuckled his eyes, feeling a little better.

"I have an idea." The prince paused and peeked over his hands. Ellis removed her headband and placed it atop his head. "A new kind of crown for a new kind of king!"

Marth gave her an exasperated look. "This is a tiara!"

"It is not! It's very regal… and masculine." She playfully glared at him.

"It makes me look like girl! I look absurd!"

"Oh, so girls are absurd are they?"

"Yes! They are!"

Marth took a snowball to the face. He wiped the slush off and found his sister shaking with laughter. The ice prince immediately retaliated, nailing Ellis in the stomach.

By the end of their snowball fight, the two Lowell children were reduced to giggles and Marth felt much better.

Later that night, Marth had returned to the dungeon to visit their prisoner. He summoned a blade of ice and gripped it tightly, raising the tip level with the Doluan's heart. The prisoner stirred from his sleep to find the ten year old boy once again before him.

"You are Altea's enemy, but you are also a man. Your silence is commendable, but your treachery is unforgivable. You will endure no more torture, but you will not escape judgment." The prisoner's eyes silently questioned the boy. Marth held steady. Finally the Doluan's eyes fell shut and he let his head slide back in surrender.

Marth drove the blade through.

He left it there for his father to find.

Father and son never discussed the incident.

Cornelius never called Marth a coward again.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Navahl knew how his king felt about torture, but he didn't have the same qualms. Growing up in Dolua, he had found it essential to his own survival; information had been more precious than water.

But so far, Navahl hadn't managed to draw anything but blood from his captive.

The wind user tore his twin blades from the prisoner's shoulders and wiped them clean, sheathing them.

More drastic measures were required. Under different circumstances, it would be difficult, but his target was tied to a chair. Navahl placed his hand over the panicking man's mouth, smiling sadistically into his victim's eyes as he stole the air from his lungs. The man thrashed against his binds, suffocating, forgetting his other wounds in a desperate struggle for life. When Navahl felt the resistance weaken, he stopped, leaving the nearly unconscious man to gasp for air.

Navahl waited patiently while he caught his breath.

"Who are you working for?"

Despite his disheveled state, the prisoner leered at him.

Navahl sighed and repeated the process, to no avail.

He hoped Marth was having more luck with his man, but it was unlikely. The young king was too kind, too fair.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Marth waited for his opponent to stand up again. He was putting up a good fight, but the lowly cohort was no match for Altea's king; he hadn't landed a single blow.

The man pushed against the wall, shaking, unable to lift himself. Instead, he raised his hands and tried to call upon his earth element, managing only a smattering of dirt. Marth gracefully avoided it.

It seemed he and Navahl had selected the weakest of the bunch; he hadn't even fed his man Garnef's element suppressant and the earth user was already too exhausted to summon a pebble. The young king knelt before him, causing the man to flinch; he didn't know why; Marth hadn't touched him, simply let him wear himself down.

"Why are you keeping the woman?"

The man smirked. "Which one?"

Marth felt himself reach a murderous edge. He may not believe in torture, but he felt no misgivings about killing his enemies. "The fire user's mother."

"Oh..." The prisoner purred his realization. "Her."

"Why are you keeping her?" Concern for Roy's mother slipped out as he spoke.

"Well…" Marth saw a malicious smirk spread over his opponent's face. "…everyone needs a little fun." The prisoner turned that smug grin on his captor, only to find it reflected in his eyes. Marth had heard for himself that she wasn't being violated.

"What are you really keeping her for?" The smile died on the man's lips, worrying at Marth's apparent resolve. He shook it off, putting on another brave face.

"Our Lord, you know, he wants her all to himself. Never lets the rest of us play with her." The ice user was growing impatient. If he knew why or how they were keeping her, he might be able to save her, might be able to stop them. The prisoner mistook Marth's impatience with anger and continued to prod him.

"Her son though…"

He had the king's attention now.

"…he let us play with him."

Marth very obviously blanched. The captive needed no more encouragement to continue.

"It was so good to have him." The temperature in the dungeons dropped considerably.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Navahl paused as he sliced off his man's pinky, feeling an ominous chill permeate the air. Something was wrong. Something was wrong with Marth.

The wind user sprinted from his cell.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I may not have had the first go at him, but he was worth it." Frost began to creep up the walls. "His body was so hot. It was like touching fire." The prisoner leaned forward towards the frozen king, lowering his voice to a vindictive whisper. "He moaned like a bitch."

Marth drove his fist through teeth.

The man slammed into the dungeon wall. Marth heard skull split against stone. The prisoner lifted stunned and fearful eyes to the seething sovereign. He saw death in that icy stare.

"Don't worry, Lowell." The prisoner spoke through a broken mouth. "We drugged him, seriously mind-fucked him. He doesn't remember. I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't even remember his own name."

"_What is your name?" _

"_Roy."_

"_Just Roy?" _

"_Just Roy."_

Marth exploded. Jagged icicles shot in all directions, impaling his enemy against the dungeon wall. He felt his body trembling with rage, saw only white. His thirst for blood was far from quenched. These monsters had not only violated his beloved Altea, they had violated Roy. They had taken everything from him. Good-hearted, hot-blooded, smart-mouthed, quick-minded Roy.

Navahl burst into the cell to find Marth's captive riddled with shards of ice, an especially large one lodged in his brain. The eighteen-year-old boy stood statuesque in the center of the room, cold rage pulsing through him. When Marth turned those ice blue eyes on him, Navahl's heart-stopped. The purity and kindness in them had been replaced with bloodlust. And then realization sparked in them. The deliriously violent king shoved past his friend, racing toward the other cell.

Navahl chased after him, but the smaller man was far faster. Navahl didn't know what had happened between Marth and his prisoner, but he knew what the ice user had in mind for the other prisoner.

He had to stop him.

As he slammed through the cell door, he saw Marth put an ice blade through the man's knee. The man let out a terrible yell, the like of which Navahl had never heard.

The wind user immediately reacted. He sent a powerful gust through the cell, flooring both Marth and his victim. The ice user was on his feet before Navahl could draw his blades. Marth charged him, icy spikes manifesting in the air around him. Navahl propelled the airborne weapons back, shattering them against the wall. He thanked the elements that Marth wasn't in a particularly strategic state of mind, or he would probably be dead already. The younger man drew Falchion and made another charge. Navahl deflected his blow with one blade and slammed the flat of the other against Marth's temple, knocking him to the ground.

Navahl threw himself over the ice user, trying to keep him still. He hurriedly sealed Marth's mouth shut and sucked the air from his lungs. The crazed king thrashed against him, throwing all manner of ice and snow at him. Navahl deflected everything with powerful bursts of air. He held him there until Marth passed out from the lack of oxygen and then immediately forced air back into his body.

He pushed himself off the unconscious boy.

No doubt the young king would awaken soon. Navahl could only hope he had his sense back.

But just in case…

Navahl untied the gasping prisoner and instead bound his friend's hands and feet. Once he did awaken, if he was still in a frenzy, he wouldn't have the wherewithal to cut himself loose, but if he did have his wits, it would be an easy escape.

The wind user left Marth's icicle in the prisoner's knee to keep him from movement, hefted the young king over his shoulder and slammed the cell door shut. He didn't bother locking it. That man wasn't going anywhere and even if he was, he was going leave a very clear trail of blood.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Navahl carried his sleeping sovereign through the halls, he felt the young king stir. He halted his footsteps and waited to see which man was on his shoulder.

He sighed relief when he heard the ropes hit the floor. Navahl eased the younger man down. Marth ran agitated fingers through his bangs. The two stood in silence for several moments before Marth collapsed against him.

"They raped him, Navahl."

The wind user wrapped his arms around the fragile boy king, whispering reassurance.

"If I had known about them… I could have—"

"This isn't your fault, Marth." Navahl knew it was useless. The young king felt responsible for guarding every Altean against every evil. And he knew Marth felt especially responsible for Roy. Navahl remembered the panic and desperation in Marth when he had burst through the castle doors, a deathly pale Roy cradled in his arms. Navahl had watched at his side as Sheeda performed the detoxification. Marth had been agitated and crazy every moment. Even when Sheeda had declared Roy perfectly healthy again, Marth had refused to leave the boy's side until he saw it for himself. The young king had blamed himself for Roy's escape and attempted murder. He always blamed himself for the transgressions of others. "There's nothing you can do to change it now. All you can do is protect him, heal him."

He heard Marth choke back a sob before standing upright again, his royal mask of resolve back in its place. The ice user coolly strode towards his bedroom and Navahl faithfully followed.

The room Navahl found at the end of the hall was empty of all its furniture and there were sinister scorch marks on the walls. Marth had just descended into the royal chamber, but Ellis was emerging from it.

"Navahl, what's wrong with him?" She greeted him with an affectionate embrace, but anxiously pulled away. He explained what had happened in the dungeons, what her brother had told her afterwards. The Altean princess nestled herself against him and sighed.

"Are you going to talk to him?" He hugged her tight, placing a comforting kiss against her temple.

"It can wait. I think he needs to be alone right now."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Marth found Roy sleeping peacefully in main room of the Lowell sanctuary. He looked exhausted. Marth silently approached and carefully sat down on the bed beside the fire user, determined to preserve his rest. He placed a hand on Roy's forehead, gently pushing his bangs back. He was so amazed by the strength in this boy.

"I failed you once." The young fire user leaned into Marth's cool palm, sleepily murmuring. "But I swear, as Altea's king, I will never let anyone hurt you again."


	8. Chapter 8

"…I will never let anyone hurt you again."

Roy stirred, felt cool fingertips against his temple. The promise in that voice coaxed the fire user from his short sleep. It could only be…

"Marth?" He stretched, feeling a tight discomfort in his overworked body and was disappointed when the king's soothing hand retreated. "You're back."

He was back.

Roy bolted upright.

"Did you find anything? Did you find my mother? Is she okay? Can I see her?" Roy halted his eager bombardment when he noticed the melancholy blue of Marth's eyes. His excitement quickly faded.

"She is okay, isn't she?" Something was very wrong. Marth's features were grey, sunken, his shoulders slumped. The calm quality of his voice carried a remorseful tremor.

"Your mother is fine."

"Where is she?" The ice user's gaze flickered away briefly as he chose careful words. But before Marth could open his mouth, Roy saw it in his face.

"You _left_ her! You left my mother in the clutches of those monsters!" The guilt-ridden king turned pained eyes on the boy and tried to speak again, to explain himself, but Roy wouldn't have it. Clenched knuckles met pale flesh. Marth hit the ground hard. "You had the chance to save her and you left her?!"

Roy followed him off the bed. He knelt atop the king's stomach, pulling his fist back as far as he could before releasing it into that regal face. Those aristocratic cheekbones bruised his fists, but he couldn't stop hitting him. Yes, he could burn him, but this anger was too visceral. He wanted to use his hands. He hit him again. Marth's blood spattered across the stone floor.

Roy watched the gloriously horrible red specks fade into the awaiting stones. The Lowell stones. They were in the Lowell room. Marth's ancestor had designed this room to defend his blood. And now Lowell blood had been spilt. Roy paused, expecting the walls to exact swift, brutal vengeance. When none came, Roy stood and dragged the son of a bitch up the stairs; intending to spill much more Lowell blood, he wouldn't tempt the elements. He threw the feeble king forward, and Marth stumbled, but didn't fall. Good. Roy wanted him on his feet, facing him. He hit him again. Marth had to steady himself against a wall, but didn't go down. He looked up at the fire user, grief smeared across his face.

"Roy… I'm sorry." Roy drove a fist into his gut. Marth crumpled over the boy's arm. "I'm sorry." Sorry didn't help his mother; he knew that too well. Roy tore away from the man curled around his punch, ready to strike him again. The young king straightened, offering himself up to more abuse. It was what the traitor deserved.

Roy paused.

Traitor?

He moved in for another attack.

Had Marth betrayed him?

Yes, undoubtedly, but betrayal didn't exist without trust.

Roy hit him again, sinking sore knuckles into Marth's ribs. The sickening crunch of bone echoed off of silent walls. Roy wasn't sure whose bones he was breaking.

Trust.

He couldn't.

Survival left him few options and trusting was a foolish one.

But he had trusted the king; from the moment Marth had knelt before him in that cell, Roy had placed a blind faith in him. Marth had been hope. Marth had been food and shelter and clothing and learning. Marth had been strength and purity and courage and justice. Marth had smiled for him, even after Roy had broken his word; Marth had waited to hear his reasons why, believed his unbelievable words. Marth had taken all of Roy's furious outbursts with understanding. Even gentle Ellis made him feel weak and ashamed, but Marth had always accepted his frustration, was accepting it now.

Yes, Roy had trusted him, trusted him as no other. And Marth had let him down.

Hot, angry tears rolled down his face as he hit him again, but the blow carried none of his previous fervor. No, Marth had not let him down. Roy had not doubted for a moment that the king's words were true. He knew his mother was safe. He knew that Marth regretted leaving her behind. He just hated that he was here and she was not. He hated that there was nothing to be done.

He fell against Marth's battered chest, steadying himself on the solidarity that was Altea's king. He was so tired. He didn't know how long he had been fighting, how long he had been without hope.

And now that he finally had it, he couldn't stand the thought of losing it again.

He felt Marth's arms close around him, strong and reassuring. Roy pressed in further, burying his face in the king's throat. His skin was so cold, so good against his own burning forehead. He smelled of blood and sweat and dirt, but beneath them all, the ever present scent of new-fallen snow lingered on him.

Roy's legs gave out beneath him. He was so tired. Marth, too, must have felt the strain because he slid down the wall until the two of them collapsed together on the floor. Roy couldn't let go of the young king just yet. He needed this feeling, this assurance that there was someone willing to fight beside him.

"Roy… I'm sorry." Marth's words were sincere, soft, but Roy heard them, and he heard every undercurrent they carried: the curse, the promise, the regret, the reassurance. "I'm sorry. I couldn't."

Roy relaxed under the apologetic murmurs. The cool of Marth's body slowed his frightened heart, eased his anxiety.

"Is she really alright?" Roy's small, strained whisper ghosted through the room.

"Yes."

--

Marth's sleep had been deep, eased by the sweet warmth settled in his lap. And when he finally awoke, it was to the smoky aroma haloing Roy's disheveled head. The young king drew his arms from their loose arrangement around the boy's waist and curled them over his shoulders. He would allow no more weight to fall upon these shoulders; Roy carried enough burden.

Roy had seen enough evil.

And despite the horrors he had suffered, he had escaped that twisted prison whole. Or nearly so. They had taken his memories.

Marth slid his fingers across the boy's nape, his bare neck burning. Roy should be lost. He had no past, no identity, no certainty. But he was a true fire user, blazing in the dark.

The young king tightened his hold on the boy. Marth could too clearly see the hands of those ruffians on him. The cold rage of the previous night began to creep into his heart.

Until he heard a knock at the door.

Both boys started.

Roy was instantly alert and on his feet, but one look from the arising king calmed his nerves. Marth already knew who called. He had known that knock since he was just a boy.

"Sheeda."

"And a very good morning to you, your highness!" She took both of his hands in hers and kissed his knuckles, despite the absence of rings. "The Princess of Talis has come to pay her respects to the unwell King of Altea." She gave a very low bow, complete with courtly flourishes, but when she lifted her head again, the sparkle in her face faded. Sheeda grabbed her friend by the chin and twisted his head to the side, getting full view of the vicious bruise swelling on his cheek.

Those blue eyes grayed. And then narrowed, catching sight of Roy and Roy's battered knuckles.

Sheeda roughly released Marth's chin.

"Trustworthy, hm?"

"Trustworthy enough." The king smiled with a sweetness that only Sheeda could find aggravating. She gave a frustrated huff, but changed the subject.

" Oguma's here too."

Marth raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. Sure enough, the tall, broad young man stepped out from behind the door and nodded curtly by way of greeting.

"I told you Talis would send someone!"

He couldn't help but laugh.

"Talis sent her General?"

Sheeda huffed again, but this time with a considerably haughtier air.

"If he had come as my General, I would have turned him away, but he came as my husband."

"Oh yes, the only man in the world with any, however little, right to command you." Marth grinned cheekily. The princess smacked him on the shoulder for his teasing, but quit her joy when he flinched. She glared again at the fire user, who stood at a respectful distance, but Marth successfully diverted the irate girl's attention with a pinch on the cheek. "Well, aren't you going to let your beloved in?"

She swatted his hand away, turning to wave her husband through the door. Oguma was handsome and scruffy, his mouth perpetually quirked with confidence. His slicked back hair, hair the color of the desert, made his brow especially prominent, but his smart hazel eyes drew all attention from it

"I don't mean to make our meeting brief, Marth, but my darling wife is required in Talis."

Sheeda blew a raspberry at his comment.

"I am not required. As long as my father remains king, my royal obligation includes only international relations, in which I am currently engaging." She gave Marth's cheek a retaliatory pinch.

"Then it is settled! The two of you shall enjoy Altea's hospitality as long as you like."

Oguma's mouth tightened impatiently. His mission would be a failure if he didn't convince Sheeda to return and this chance to impress her father would be wasted. Marth sympathized with his plight; both young men had been trying to win back the Talisian king's good favor for the past three years.

Marth gathered his two friends, his closest allies, clapping the good general on the shoulder and throwing an arm around the pretty princess. But despite the pleasant nature of his actions, his expression was anything but. He lowered his voice, keeping it out of Roy's ears.

"I need the two of you here. Altea is on the brink of war. The council has all but decided to send Altea's knights to aid Lycia in her struggle and I believe a second front has already opened." Sheeda and Oguma held their expressions calm, but their eyes were stern. "The attempt on my life came from within Altea's borders."

"Garnef?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not. But a surer enemy has set foot on Altean soil. Navahl and I confirmed their presence last night." Sheeda slipped a reassuring arm around Marth's waist. "Altea's knights will be stretched too thin and my own personal allies are dwindling; I need a plant user I can trust. Altea needs Talis' military might."

The three of them stood silently for several moments. The young king knew what he was asking, what it could cost them, and he would not begrudge them if they refused.

Sheeda stepped back.

Marth held his breath.

"But of course, Altea shall have the services of Talis' finest plant user for as long as she requires them!" The bright-eyed girl gave him an exaggerated curtsy, almost kneeling.

"And Altea shall have Talis' armies."

Marth smiled his relief and appreciation. Sheeda grinned and thrust matter-of-fact hands on her hips.

"Well, what did you think we were going to say?"

--

Roy watched in silence as the cheery princess and her stout husband left the room. She hadn't spoken a word to him, but her furious stares had promised the pain of death if he put one toe out of line. So throughout the entire royal exchange, he had kept his mouth shut.

But now that he was alone with the king, he felt like he could finally breathe again. And speak.

"Unwell?"

The young king turned suddenly, as if startled. Those normally steady, icy eyes showed fear and uncertainty, but only for a moment. Marth anchored his gaze to the fire user and calm settled over the turmoil.

"What?"

"Sheeda said…" Maybe he had said the wrong thing.

"Oh yes… don't worry about it. It was just… Sheeda." The king seemed distracted, pale, short of breath. Marth was lying. Something was wrong with him. And the night before last, he had come to Roy's bedroom in a similar state. At the time, he had not thought twice of it since their training session had been so intense, but what if Marth was really sick? Sudden anxiety overtook him. He needed to know the truth.

"I absolutely will worry about it!" As the words tumbled from his mouth, Roy's anxiety became anger. Marth couldn't trust him with something so simple? They were allies now, weren't they? Fighting the same enemy, facing the same evil. Roy might even call Marth friend if the king could find it in himself to confide something, anything in him. "You need to tell me what is going on in this castle I must now call home, in the country I must now serve."

The young king sighed heavily and pushed his bangs back in a show of distress. "I'm sorry Roy. I don't want you to feel that you must be here. You can forget our agreement; you owe Altea nothing. You are free to go as you please."

"That isn't what I meant!" No, Roy wanted to stay. But he also wanted to give his overly repentant companion a good smack over the head for even suggesting it. "You have nothing to be sorry for! Now, tell me what is wrong with you!"

Marth's half-smile was almost heartbreaking.

"Alright. I'm sorry, you're right. You should know." Roy blinked his surprise. The young king almost never relayed information to him. Half the time, Roy didn't even know where he was. Marth ran his fingers through his bangs again. "The other night, an assassination attempt was made on my life. Someone tried to poison me."

Roy couldn't even respond. He knew that particular terror too well, and he was sure Marth was equally familiar.

"Of course, the next morning, Sheeda had me in perfect working order again, but if my assailant knew I was well, another attempt might be made. And I might not be so lucky a second time.

"So, I asked my most trusted plant user to keep my health a secret. All but a few believe that I am tragically bedridden."

"Who does know?"

"Ellis and Navahl, Sheeda and Oguma and now you." A few indeed. Despite his self-righteous demand for the information, he felt proud to be among those few. But doubt still lingered in his mind.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Marth smiled apologetically and this time, ran his fingers through Roy's wayward hair. "I didn't want you to worry yourself over me; there is enough on your shoulders."

Marth's entangled hand idled a moment longer before he pulled away and straightened into a more formal posture. "I hope you'll forgive me, but I have another matter to attend to. Ellis should be here shortly." And the young king took his leave.

Alone, Roy had only his thoughts.

Marth was so careful with him. And though it infuriated him, Roy knew the delicacy was meant to be respectful and considerate. He tried to imagine what Marth carried on his shoulders, how great the responsibility that fell on Altea's boy king. Roy had only himself and his mother to concern him, but Marth had the well-being of every Altean on his mind. And without a second thought, he had taken Roy's plight as his own.

But no longer.

"I swear it, Marth, I will never burden you again."


	9. Chapter 9

hmm… sorry it's been so long since my last update ;; but my grandfather passed a few months ago and since we're one big family of spanish women it took a little while to get all the intercontinental affairs in order… and moving furniture around takes like five or six of us X.x

promise the next one will be up much sooner! please continue to read and enjoy! and thank you for already having done so (i hope)!

* * *

Marth's footfalls were silent as he stole through the hallways. The sentinels that patrolled the castle at night were absent in daylight, but the 'unwell' king could spare no caution; he mustn't be seen. Creeping his way towards the dungeons, however, was infinitely preferable to the task awaiting him.

He didn't want to. But it was his duty as sovereign.

And.

It was all his fault.

Marth scowled, recalling his barbaric behavior. His prisoner had not been executed. He had been murdered, murdered by a bloodthirsty beast. Marth had never done anything like it before; he had never so completely lost his sense of self. He shook his head with both repulsion and resolve. Never again.

Yes. His enemies could do terrible things to his people, had done them to Roy, but as king, he couldn't afford to lose his head. He had to remain alert. If he was going to protect his country, he needed every whisper of information he could get.

And since he had so spectacularly slaughtered a source of said information the previous night, he would have to scrape as much as he could from the remaining prisoner.

But when he arrived, the cell was empty, the body gone.

Marth suspected his overprotective bodyguard might have had something to do with it. And sure enough, in the other prisoner's cell, he found Navahl already hard at work.

The confined man was in a pitiful state, dismembered, sliced, bloody all over. The blade Marth had put through his knee remained and the flesh surrounding it had acquired the dark hue of disease and death. Navahl was at his back, a hand on his shoulder, the other around his wrist, the man's arm twisted at a horrible angle. Any moment and the bone would give.

"A little early for torture, isn't it?" The wind user glanced up from his task and greeted his king with a smirk, shifting the prisoner's arm in his socket. The man's entire body contorted in an attempt to relieve the pain, if only a bit, but Navahl adjusted with him.

"It's noon." And to punctuate his words, Navahl gave a sudden twist, breaking the enemy's arm with a sharp crack. "I take it you slept well?" He released the man, wiping grime coated hands on his overshirt and stepping away from the whimpering, trembling prisoner.

"Very well." Marth couldn't stop staring at the man in the chair struggling for breath, but Navahl quickly put himself between them, watching the ice user's eyes for any dangerous shifts. Assured that Marth had no intention of repeating the previous night's mistake, Navahl took notice of the insinuating bruise planted upon his face.

"Oh? Because someone knocked you out?" Navahl's subtle inflection on 'someone' made clear which fire user he suspected. A boyhood grin touched Marth's lips before forming around a soft 'no.'

"Well. Regardless." Navahl was sure Roy had made the mark. And though the young king saw no menace in the boy, Navahl intended to watch him closely; Altea's enemies had already come close enough. "It seems the intruders come from Bern."

"From Bern?" Marth turned wide eyes on the source of this incredible information. Bern was currently waging a war against a powerful military nation. They couldn't possibly spare the manpower to invade Altea as well.

"The terrorists we encountered were only reconnaissance, but there will be more. And Dolua is already their ally."

"Their ally?" The news had reduced the young king to repetition.

"Bern intends to cripple Altea early and in a single blow."

"A single blow?" Marth tried to get his mind around this sudden revelation. At least enough to form his own words. "Bern underestimates Altea's knights."

"Overestimates, actually. They plan to strike when Altea's army is halved. And Dolua will assist in the attack." Marth was silenced. Three fronts. Fighting Bern in both Lycia and his beloved Altea, where he had expected only Dolua. It was certainly the quickest way to conquer Akaneia; Dolua was Akaneia's deepest breadbasket, despite Talis' best efforts, and as an ally, Bern could put a chokehold on the continent's food supply. And if Altea indeed fell as the battleplan anticipated, Bern's greatest military threat would be eliminated before the rest of the world even knew Akaneia had been invaded. And Bern's military might combined with Dolua's vengeful mind-set against Talis' spare troops and only half the Altean Knights, surely Altea would fall.

But.

Only the king's council knew of the plan to send troops to Lycia. And it wasn't even final yet.

"And the traitor?" Navahl had seen Marth's thoughts flitting across his eyes. The boy king already knew which man had betrayed him.

"Garnef."

Marth closed his eyes. Of course Garnef would enlist the help of the Doluans and in turn, the Bernians. Even if he killed Marth, Altea's knights would never pledge loyalty to the high priest; his brothers would demand the crown for Commander Jeigan. And Altea's people, her sons and daughters, would call for their beloved Ellis to take the crown. Marth's death would bring civil war to Altea, a civil war which would steal Garnef's right to the throne.

He would need an army of his own.

And he had found two.

Marth pressed a despairing hand to his own forehead. Any change in tactics would reach Garnef's ears. His enemy knew everything he knew.

Except Roy.

They thought the fire user was dead.

Marth dropped his hand and rested it atop Falchion's hilt, new hope sparking. A powerful fire user was a huge advantage in battle. Roy's wildfire could easily tear down a hundred men.

And Marth.

They thought the ice user was dying.

He was a powerful melee warrior as well; the ability to send blades of ice long rage would be another serious advantage. He wouldn't be able to keep it up for long, but he would take out at least as many men as Roy.

Yes, there was hope for Altea's victory, but it was not enough. Altea needed a strategy. Marth needed council. His own personal council.

But first.

Marth unsheathed Falchion and pointed her at the tortured man. "This sword slays dragons, Bernian. Let us see what it does to dragon-worshippers."

--

Those closest to the young king had gathered in his empty room, which the two Lowells had soundproofed with ice and outside of which Navahl had set security wind currents. The secretive six sat in a circle, Marth and Ellis on either side of Roy, Sheeda and Oguma to Marth's right and Navahl beside Ellis. Sheeda and Marth traded glares over Roy's inclusion, but the king had already decided.

Navahl, as the only one among them privy to every detail, began the explanation. Since Marth already knew the story, his focus was situated on the fire user beside him. The boy paid very serious attention to the state's affairs. The young king smiled to himself. With his brow drawn so stern, the corners of his mouth so pouted and those passionate blue eyes so engaged, he was almost cute.

But when Navahl revealed that Roy's captors had been from Bern, Marth watched as the fiery light in his eyes flickered between anger and uncertainty. No. Roy wouldn't understand what Bern was, would he? He couldn't remember anything. Marth thought of the fire user's surprise when he had learned the Lowell king was an ice user. Even common knowledge eluded him. Much of this political entanglement would be lost on him.

The air around him chilled as he also thought of the men responsible. Both Roy and Sheeda glanced in his direction, feeling the temperature drop, but only Roy recognized the cold fury on Marth's face. The fire user answered with the king's own teachings.

He heated the air around the king, spiraling in until warmth reached him. He led the heat through Marth's body, warming the tips of his fingers, his hands, his wrists, his arms, his shoulders, until he reached his core. He watched as the frozen boy beside him relaxed.

Marth blushed, dropping his chin slightly so that his bangs shadowed his face. Roy's using had been so gentle, so intimate, like the comforting hands of a lover. He turned curious eyes on his companion, whose expression he couldn't read clearly. Concerned. Encouraging. Reassuring. Marth shook his head and laughed silently to himself. Roy's intention was purely innocent; he was just imagining things.

Neither Ellis, Oguma nor Navahl noticed the quiet exchange, engrossed as they were, but Sheeda had seen everything. And though she didn't understand exactly what had taken place, the smile it put on her friend's face convinced her that there was more than impulse to this fire user.

All attention reconvened upon Navahl as he leaned forward.

"We need a plan."

Sheeda leaned back on her hands and sarcastically contributed. "Yeah, we need their plan."

Oguma ignored the jest in his wife's comment. "Right. Well, what do we know? Has Garnef made any suspicious moves lately?"

"Are we talking about the same high priest? Because the one I'm talking about is _always_ suspicious." The Talisian general, again, ignored the mockery in his wife's voice.

"Since King Cornelius' death?" Marth, unlike his dear friend, took Oguma's inquiries seriously. The man was a brilliant general and an envied tactician.

"Garnef opposed sending Altea's knights to Lycia."

"What was his reason?"

"A weakened Altea would invite Dolua." The six encircled minds worried at this behavior, guessing its motive.

"Well…" The royals were all surprised out of their conjectures at the sound of Roy's small voice. He hesitated under their curious gazes, his eyes darting nervously toward Marth, seeking reassurance. When he found it, he charged forward. "He just needed an excuse. Garnef knew Dolua wasn't coming until he called. He didn't want to send troops against his ally."

Oguma, having come to the same conclusion, gave the boy a closer look, finding the strategic esteems in him his darling Sheeda had missed while angrily describing him.

"And at the most recent council, Garnef had changed his mind because Lycia was losing." Realization suddenly hit the young king as he spoke.

"Because Bern was sure to win." And it seemed it had hit Navahl as well.

"And could spare its army." And Ellis.

"What?" Oguma interrupted their optimistic insight. "Lycia isn't losing. She's fighting like a dog." Shadows passed over the faces of the Alteans, recalling where their misinformation had come from. The young king hadn't even considered the lie because Commander Jeigan had agreed, but Jeigan had been eager from the beginning, hadn't he? "Which means something else changed his mind for him."

"Roy." Sheeda finally leaned forward, suddenly serious. "Garnef killed him when he left him to die."

"Because he knew of the Bernians' presence." Navahl finished for her.

"So they've expedited their plans for Altea's invasion, despite the risk they face in Lycia?" Ellis questioned skeptically.

"They're desparate." Oguma answered. "They have assumed the worst: that Roy has made contact and alerted Marth to danger. They must strike before Altea discovers them. Bern's armies travel south as we speak; the moment they reach the capital, they will attack." The general spoke as if he himself commanded their troops. He knew enough of their plan now to imagine their next move.

"Then we must assuage their fears, hold this fight on Altea's terms." Marth already had an idea. "A feint."

"A feint." Oguma's tactical mind ticked along with Marth's. He spread a conjured blanket of sand in the center of the circle and traced a hasty map of Altea across it.

"We'll send half the knights toward the harbor." Marth drew the path from the capital to Altea's only port city. "But instead of to the coast, they'll circle around to the west, and return from the south." He looped his line around the dot that represented the capital.

"Where they'll rendezvous with Talis' troops." Oguma struck a line from the south into the dot in the center, crossing it through Marth's loop.

"How quickly can you have your soldiers here?" Marth addressed the Talisian general, who spent a moment calculating.

"Three days."

A cautious optimism was rising in the young king. It could work. Bern would march through Altea's northern border and Dolua through the eastern. Altea could win.

But Garnef would have to believe it.

"Sheeda." He turned to the expert plant user. "Do you think you can emulate the effects of Garnef's poison?"

--

Marth entered the council room in his bedclothes, leaning heavily on Navahl, sweating, panting and quelling a horrible urge to vomit. He didn't have to fake anything; Sheeda's poison had made sure of that. Upon seeing his condition, the commander and his captains leapt from their seats in sudden alarm. The young king settled them with a dismissing wave and cringed as Navahl arranged him at the head of the table. Marth insisted on standing, despite the weakness in his legs, and braced himself against the table's edge.

"To Lycia." His voice was husky and tired. "Altea will send only half her knights." He bowed his head, gathering more strength to his words. "In my stead, Navahl will lead them." While Sheeda had concocted his temporary illness, Marth and his bodyguard had discussed it. For the plan to succeed, it could only be Navahl.

"My king, I will-" Marth cut his commander's protest off with strained and grateful smile.

"Jeigan, Altea's security will always be the priority. In the state I am in, I will be unable to protect her as she requires. You must be here if Dolua takes advantage." The gruff older man indulgently returned the boy's smile and quietly acquiesced. The two of them had always shared an equal love of country and Marth had known the commander's answer before he gave it.

The sickly king took a deep breath to summon energy. "How quickly can you have the knights ready to march?"

"Two days. A day and a half if I push 'em." Marth saw Jeigan's plans for preparation surfacing behind his eyes.

"Don't. Their journey is long and their fight a struggle." Navahl came forward to offer support to the king's failing body. "Two days." The ice user collapsed in his guard's waiting arms. And as the council adjourned, he caught sight of Garnef's calm and satisfied smile.


End file.
